The Break of a New Dawn
by K242
Summary: The Eagle takes its stand against the church and the oppression of the crests, engaging in a mortal struggle with the Lion. The Deer silently watches, torn between the old peace and a new future. In a secluded copse on the fields of Gronder, a last ember of the progenitor god's flame brings all three together, and the fate of Fodlan unfolds.
1. Chapter 1

Dimitri is unceremoniously dragged up from the dirt and forced onto his knees by a pair of imperial knights, who hold him in preparation for their liege's judgment.

For all that the years have done to Dimitri, they have been far kinder to Edelgard. She stride forth regally, clad in the striking crimson garb of the Adrestian emperor, appearing as though she has been untouched by the ravages of war. Dimitri would think that she had been standing back and letting her underlings get their hands dirty, yet he himself had watched his once-stepsister wreak graceful carnage upon his countrymen with her own hands.

It was when he caught sight of her, embroiled in the pitched melee on the frontlines, did Dimitri abandon both his reason as well as his cadre of generals and soldiers, feverishly pursuing his bitter rival across the entire battle, so eager was his desire to see Edelgard broken before him. He longed to make her pay for the Tragedy of Duscur, her betrayal of the church and the professor, and the countless lives her pointless war had claimed. Yes, he would have taken great pleasure in her suffering and eventual death at his hands.

But it was only that: a delirious vision granted to him by his insatiable need for vengeance. In reality, he now kneels on the ground before his enemy, embarrassingly easily defeated. Tempest King and legendary relic weapon or not, no one warrior can simply stand against an entire army singlehanded, let alone the emperor's elite contingent of personal guards. Though Dimitri is defeated, he can at least appreciate that he had not made it easy for his foes, as evidenced by the numerous bodies that litter the grove around him.

"Face me, coward," Dimitri growls his demand, even though his hardly in a position to do so. His one good eye burns with baleful rage, as if the raw emotion itself could slay Edelgard. "This is between us, and us alone."

Edelgard stares down at her stepbrother, her piercing violet gaze filled with neither regret nor rage, a stark contrast to Dimitri's own. In fact, her eyes are completely empty, a disturbing void of emotion or feeling. There is only a cold, calculating intellect that masks her ambition.

"That's what makes us different, Dimitri," Edelgard says flatly. "What they say is true: you really have lost yourself to your madness, to your obsession with my death. I, on the other hand, do not fight for myself. I walk a bloody path, but I fight for an ideal. A brighter future for every person in Fodlan."

"Mad? Perhaps I am," Dimitri chuckles mirthlessly. "Yet even I am not so deluded to believe that I wage this war for some lofty greater good. Yes, your death would end the war, but that really is secondary to just seeing you die. You are nothing but a murderer, Edelgard, and you will know justice—if not at the tip of my spear, then at the blade of the goddess herself. Your atrocities will never be forgiven, Flame Emperor."

"Flame Emperor. . .yes, I once donned that title." Edelgard looks away from Dimitri, both in reminiscence and an inability to look him in the eye. "You may not believe me, but I truly did not orchestrate the Tragedy of Duscur. . .we were family, once. I truly cherished—"

Dimitri howls with maniacal laughter, interrupting Edelgard. "Yes, 'once.' You think you can wash your hands of our blood, 'El,' so easily? You may allegedly have had no hand in the Tragedy, yet you ally yourself with those who did. Your alliance with those fiends is tantamount to an acceptance of responsibility."

"Perhaps it is," Edelgard mutters. "I would that I could wipe them from the face of the land, Dimitri. You are not the only victim in their millennium-long grudge." She raises a clenched fist, willing the Crest of Flames to manifest in the air, the unearthly glow illuminating the surrounding trees. "Like the professor, I too bear the crest of the King of Liberation. Neither of us were born with it, though—the professor was a product of the church's quest to resurrect the goddess, but I am the crowning achievement of those who seek vengeance upon the church. But I refuse to be their pawn, nor will I accept the rule of the church that seeks humanity's stagnation."

Dimitri's eye widens in wonder and disbelief as he beholds Edelgard's second crest for the first time. But though Edelgard has furnished the evidence to support her claim and justify her stance, Dimitri can't just let go of his hatred for her. To do so would be to let those who died forever rest without peace, to acknowledge that justice is not so black and white as he would like to believe. And yet. . .he finds his own resolve shaken, even if he can't forgive Edelgard. Was he really just a tool of the church? To Dimitri, the idea of being used is almost as unpalatable as letting Edelgard live. Almost.

"Finish, it El," Dimitri says, but this time there is no mocking venom when he says her name. There is tired resignation and a new lucidity to his voice, the whispering edge of madness gone. All that remains is but a man humbled by defeat.

"Yield, Dimitri. Yield, and you and your country will be spared. My quarrel is with the church," Edelgard says, no, implores.

Dimitri bows his head with a grimace, refusing the offer and accepting his fate. "You and I, we cannot exist in the same world, El. . . . Can you promise me that you won't harm them? My people?"

"I promise."

Edelgard dons Aymr and raises her axe to prepare to finish it. She hesitates for a moment as she looks down at the defeated king, and in her mind she can once again see the young boy from Faerghus, the young man at Garreg Mach. But if she is to walk her path, Edelgard cannot afford to fall pretty to such sentiments, but she does allow herself one final farewell.

"Goodbye, Dimitri."

With all her might, Edelgard strikes.

But to both her shock and (surprising) relief, her arm refuses to obey, and a quick glance behind her tells her why. Extending from the trees behind her are the segments of a whip-like blade, humming energy of a crest. The blade has tangled itself around Aymr, and the sword's wielder deftly wrests the relic from Edelgard's grasp, sending the legendary axe flying off into the woods.

At the same time, a buffeting wind bludgeons Dimitri and the armored knights restraining him, sending all three tumbling flat to the ground as a massive wyvern positions itself between Edelgard and Dimitri.

"Looks like we were just in time, Teach!" Claude says nonchalantly, but Failnaught's tense bowstring belies his easygoing nature.

Byleth steps out of the thicket, the Sword of the Creator still burning crimson. She looks from Dimitri to Edelgard, both startled into bewildered silence, while Edelgard's warriors mill about, waiting for the order to engage the new enemy. Calmly, Byleth lets the energy of her crest recede from the sword and approaches the three leaders. "So it would seem."

* * *

Notes: If you're wondering, for the purposes of this story, Byleth technically doesn't choose one House to teach and support. That kind of struck me as a little weird (besides the whole nameless mercenary becoming a professor of a prestigious military academy thing), that each House had a specific primary teacher who mostly did not have extensive knowledge of every topic. It makes more sense to me that it would be like actual school, where each House/class would rotate to different instructors for different classes, while having a so-called "homeroom" instructor who would handle various housekeeping matters regarding the students. So Byleth (ostensibly) would be closer to a melee combat/tactics instructor, while Hanneman and Manuela would have their own niches, and the students would have classes with every professor. Yes, there are seminars in game, but it made more sense to me that each professor would have more of a role in every students' education.

You might note, however, that the events somewhat mirror the Blood of the Eagle and Lion, with some important distinctions. That she arrives with Claude is not an indication that the story will be going the Golden Deer route.


	2. Chapter 2

For a brief moment in time, time seems to stop. The whole world is deathly still, down to the smallest blade of grass, and the battle that rages in the distance suddenly goes silent. Edelgard can only stare at Byleth in relief and wonder, her mask so quickly discarded. There is something about Byleth that makes Edelgard feel so vulnerable yet safe, perhaps the bond they share as bearers of the Crest of Flames. Or maybe there is something more.

A single second passes and life returns to the world, the cacophonous din of war once again ringing across the plain. Edelgard takes a hesitant step towards Byleth but stops, unsure of herself for the first time in forever. She had been prepared to walk her path, but now her resolve wavers. She still has the presence of mind to signal her soldiers to stand down. The very least she owes the professor is a chance to speak.

"Professor. . .but how?" Edelgard whispers, so stunned that she can scarcely breathe. "You disappeared at the battle for Garreg Mach five years ago. . .I watched as the cathedral fell on you."

"Are you a ghost?" Dimitri asks, both he and Edelgard completely forgetting their irreconcilable feud. "There's no way you survived that."

"I don't know myself," Byleth says. "I can't recall what happened after the battle. One day, I just. . .woke up."

"That's beside the point," Claude interjects, his aim still trained on Edelgard's vulnerable throat. "Let's get to the issue at hand. Teach is here to ask both of you to stand down. Or, if that's not a good enough reason, let's call it me suing for peace."

Edelgard smiles to herself ruefully at the current situation, amused and nostalgic. "We did say we would meet again at the millennium festival, didn't we? I guess I had a feeling it wouldn't come to pass, though I didn't imagine it would happen like this."

"And whose fault is that, warmonger?" Dimitri asks, but his vicious retort earns him the pointy end of Claude's bow and arrow.

"No need for that, Your Majesty," Claude admonishes him.

Watching her three former students at each other's throats is painful for Byleth. They may not have exactly been fast friends back at the academy, but Byleth would like to believe there was at least some sense of camaraderie among the three as the future leaders of Fodlan. She can't help but wonder if she went wrong somewhere—maybe she should have spent more time talking with Dimitri about his troubled past, or Claude about his obsession with deceit and schemes, or Edelgard with the immense burden she bears.

The last one, Byleth can most certainly empathize with, and it is perhaps her greatest failure. Edelgard had confided in Byleth the secret of her Crest of Flames, and the atrocities she had to endure. And all Byleth could do was tell her that such a thing would never happen again. In a way, Byleth had guided Edelgard to the path of war.

But now is her chance to make things right, at least in her mind. "Claude, you can lower your bow now. I'm sure you all remember the battle of Garreg Mach."

"How could I forget?" Dimitri asks. "That day, that viper showed her true colors—nothing but a power-hungry murderer."

"And what of yourself?" Byleth suddenly asks him. "Have you been a just and fair ruler? Can you truly claim to be Edelgard's better?"

Dimitri rises to his feet and dusts himself off, eyes subtly searching for a weapon he can take up. "I make no such claim. I know my own sins. I lie, I steal, I kill. . .I do not pretend that these acts are done in the name of a greater cause. I understand that my actions have consequences, consequences I willingly accept if it means Edelgard will die."

Byleth sighs, her heart gripped by a pang of regret. She truly has failed her students. "I thought you were a better man, Dimitri."

"There is no 'better man' in war, professor. You of all people should know that. Good faith and noble intentions have no place on the battlefield. There is only you and your foe. And one will die. There are no depths to which Edelgard will not sink. If I am not willing to do the same, I fail the people of Faerghus."

"Did you not witness the end of the battle for Garreg Mach?" Edelgard steps forward, not the slightest bit indignant at Dimitri's accusations—there is truth to them, after all. In fact, her face is earnest, and the words come tumbling from her mouth as she tries again to reach Dimitri. "Did you not see the white beast that took to the battlefield in defense of the monastery? That is Rhea's true form: The Immaculate One. She is one of the children of the progenitor god, and for a millennium she has manipulated and suppressed humanity to further her own goals. Would you be a puppet to an inhuman monster?"

"Hold on." Claude raises a hand to stop the conversation. "So I also saw that thing five years ago, but I always figured it was some sort of demonic beast, or maybe someone without a crest got a hold of a crest stone or a relic weapon. You mean to tell me that was the archbishop?" Claude looks to Byleth, hoping for clarification.

"It was," Byleth solemnly says. "My father's journal only further confirmed my suspicions. As Edelgard said, the archbishop has lived for a thousand years—you might better know her as Seiros. Over the years, she has attempted nearly a dozen times to implant a human with the Crest of Flames in order to resurrect her mother. Each of her attempts failed, including my own mother. But it seems where my mother failed, I succeeded. Through me, Rhea would return the goddess to the world."

"And on the other side of this shadowy game, I was created. Opposing the archbishop is a group of individuals descended from the ancient Agarthans. Now, we only call them Those Who Slither in the Dark," Edelgard puts out a hand, palm up, and conjures the Crest of Flames once again, this time for Claude's benefit. "Whereas the professor was implanted with a crest in order to restore the goddess, my ten siblings and I were brutally experimented upon in order to manifest the Crest of Flames in order to destroy the church. Of the eleven of us, only I remain sane, uncrippled, or alive. I will not be a pawn in this ancient grudge. Both the archbishop and the monsters who created me cannot live if peace is to exist in Fodlan."

"No, the only monster here is Edelgard," Dimitri continues to rant. "Just think! Claude, professor! Would we be at war if not for her? Does it truly matter that the archbishop controls us if she brings peace and order? No one would have to suffer! Between Edelgard and I, the flaws of humanity are crystal clear. Humans are unfit to rule this world."

"Dimitri—" Byleth begins, but she's cut off by the sudden appearance of a spearhead at her throat.

"Sorry, professor," Sylvain apologizes, looking genuinely upset. "But I'm going to have to take back Dimitri." Yet another new party enters the clearing, this time a small detachment of the Kingdom of Faerghus' most distinguished troops. "Return King Dimitri to us, or the professor dies," Sylvain tells Edelgard.

For a moment, Byleth thinks that Edelgard will refuse. And she can't exactly blame her—right now, she has the leader of an enemy nation in her grasp. A single person, even one who is a close friend, just doesn't have the same amount of strategic value. If their roles were switched, Byleth would seriously consider declining. But, to everyone's surprise, Edelgard relents.

"Very well. Let the professor go, and you can take back your king."

Sylvain lowers his spear and bows his head in apology to Byleth before taking hold of Dimitri and hurrying him away. The rest of the knights of Faerghus slowly back away, refusing to turn their backs on the Empire, until they're absolutely certain they aren't being pursued.

"I suppose that's the end of that," Claude says in disappointment. "Seems like this war will go on."

"But what about you, Claude?" Byleth asks him.

And Claude can only ask himself: what about him?

* * *

Following the rescue of King Dimitri, the armies of Faerghus immediately retreated to their lines, unwilling to engage in further conflict after the debacle that ensued when their commander abandoned his post. Meanwhile, there is a tacit and uneasy peace between the Alliance and Empire camps, sustained only by their two leaders and Claude's carefully constructed yet fragile veil of neutrality. The two forces are close enough that Claude can sneak away for a walk and be far enough from either side's lines to go unnoticed, but close enough that there is no real danger in the exercise. The dreadful quiet that hangs over the battlefield is unsettling, but Claude could do with some peace and quiet to himself right now. Besides, the professor also sent for him, and that is a summons he can't ignore.

Once again, Claude feels like he's on the outside looking in, simply observing as Dimitri and Edelgard engage in battle of armies and ideals. From where Claude stands, the two are simply irreconcilable. Was he doing the right thing now? Or should he have let Edelgard kill Dimitri and potentially end the war? No, that would be too easy. There's no guarantee another leader wouldn't take control of the kingdom an continue the struggle—the most worrisome option being Rhea. The church already holds an unimaginable amount of power in Fodlan, both in its military as well as in the people's hearts and minds.

Dimitri. . .there had always been a latent darkness to him when he was just a classmate, though it is understandable given what has happened to Dimitri throughout his entire life. His obsession with Edelgard, however, goes far beyond simply unhealthy and into the realms of dangerous obsession. What had happened to that solemn and honest prince who abhorred killing?

And Edelgard. Claude is only working with incomplete information (which he loathes) but from what he can tell, her sudden aggression seems to have come out of nowhere. She had always been a rather serious individual back at the academy, one who took the horrors of war unnervingly well, but he never thought her capable of launching such a campaign against the rest of Fodlan. He thought himself a master of schemes, but between both Edelgard and Hubert sometimes Claude wonders if he is being outfoxed.

Byleth, too, is another mystery that Claude simply can't solve, and not for lack of trying. He had actually been preparing to sortie against both the Adrestian Empire and Kingdom of Faerghus when Leonie burst into the generals' tent, out of breath and pale-faced. She had babbled frantically about Captain Jeralt's kid being back from the dead, and that was something Claude just couldn't ignore. And lo and behold, standing there looking no worse for wear was the professor. How she survived the last five years is unknown even to her, but Claude surmises it has something to do with her crest and inexplicable change of hair color. Beyond that surface level theory, however, Claude has nothing more. How she found him is much easier to hypothesize. Three major armies mobilizing to a single battlefield isn't exactly an inconspicuous event, and there is no doubt that the professor could easily deduce when and where the decisive battle was to occur.

Even now, Claude still feels like he's watching everything from the outside. Perhaps it's better that way. He can keep the Alliance out of the war and let the two bitter enemies destroy each other—that was more in line with his usual mode of operation. So why did he feel so compelled to intervene when the professor asked for his help? It's not as though he feels much love for the people of Fodlan—for too long he had been at the mercy of their prejudices and hatred. = Maybe it was who it was that came to him for help. The professor had never looked at him differently, never treated him like some reviled beast. Her brilliant mind and inexplicable charisma, maybe those were the tools he needed to make his dream reality.

But the talk of using people like tools doesn't sit well with him. It reminds him too much of how Dimitri would willingly send his friends to die for a personal grudge or how Edelgard would willingly sacrifice the lives of innocents for a supposedly better world the dead would never see. How he no can longer see the faced behind the armor and colors of the Leicester Alliance, only figures to be counted and managed.

No, he would not be like them. No more. Claude may always be an outsider in this world—but that might not really be such a bad thing.

"Claude." Edelgard's stern voice startles Claude out of his reverie. It seems she's had the same idea as him to take a breather and just have some time to think. Think without all of the voices of the various ministers and generals trying to make a name for themselves and gain power and prestige. Not exactly the most upstanding behavior for a pair of heads of state, but they are only human.

"Oh, Edelgard. That was some nasty business back there, wasn't it?" Claude chuckles, trying to mask his insecurity with his usual wryness. An attempt that he knows Edelgard will easily see through, but she will have enough tact to play along. Even a simple conversation for Claude seems to be layers of deception upon deception nowadays. "Let me guess: the professor told you to meet her here, didn't she?"

"Yes. I know not what game she is playing, but it is difficult to deny her. I suppose she still wants at least us two to make peace." Edelgard walks past Claude to gaze over the now desolate battlefield, which is now populated only by crows feasting upon the fallen. "Am I doing the right thing?" she asks no one in particular.

As the only person present, Claude feels obligated to answer though he most definitely doesn't feel qualified to do so. "Honestly? I really don't know. I have to agree with you about the corruption of the church. I was never big on gods or prayer myself—not that I have a problem with religion or anything. It provides stability and meaning to people's lives. But do the gods win battles or make peace? No, it's something we earn with our own strength. And now, knowing a veritable goddess has exerted influence upon our world for a thousand years, I ask: what have the gods done for us? She only serves herself. Us humans are just a means to an end.

But how far is too far, Edelgard? I know you said you didn't do it, but you still ally yourself with the people who committed the Tragedy of Duscur. And now you wage a bloody campaign that will cost countless lives. Does the good you seek to do outweigh the evils you must commit? I fear that I cannot be the judge of that. The only one who can decide that is you, Edelgard."

Edelgard heaves a great sigh, for once sounding more like the young woman she is than the ruler and leader she must be. "I want to believe I'm right. I have to. Otherwise. . .how can I ever live with what I've done? Dimitri is right, Claude—Lady Rhea and Those Who Slither in the Dark aren't the only monsters here. I'm one, too. Some days, I wonder if the clothes I wear were always this red, or are they now dyed by the blood of the fallen. In this future I want to create, there is no place for someone like me. Though I doubt I will live to see much of it, if I even win this war."

Claude raises an eyebrow as if to ask a question, but he remains silent and lets Edelgard continue.

"The process which was used to imbue me with the Crest of Flames has placed great strain upon my body. The procedure, called blood reconstruction surgery, ended up turning my once-brown hair snow white. And beyond that, I fear that I may have but a few years left to live at this point. If you do not believe me, ask Lysithea. She too has suffered through blood reconstruction surgery." Edelgard finally turns to face Claude, her face drawn tight with stress and sorrow. "I couldn't just wait to die, Claude. The church and crests have held the people of Fodlan in their iron grip for too long. I just want to see a world where everyone is equal, where every person has the opportunity to create his or her own future with their own merit. Is that the kind of world you seek?"

To that, Claude can sympathize. Yet even if he knows exactly how Edelgard feels, he also does not know what to say—and not for a lack of things to say. He's already said his piece, but Edelgard's convictions strike a sore spot within him. "'A world where everyone is equal,'" Claude mutters. "It sounds too good to be true."

Edelgard looks disheartened by Claude's cynical reply, but he continues on. "I'm sure you know all about my heritage: my mother is from Fodlan, but my father is from Almyra. On either side of the border, I'm an outsider. To the people of Fodlan, I'm a filthy animal. To the people of Almyra, I'm a sniveling coward. When you don't belong anywhere, you get a pretty unique perspective on life. Whereas you resorted to allying yourself with Those Who Slither in the Dark, despite their atrocities, I could not rely on the strength of others even if I wanted to. Who would ally with me? And I was never the strongest myself, so I turned to schemes and trickery to deceive and defeat my foes. Everything and everyone were tools to be used all in the pursuit of victory. If I kept winning, then maybe I wouldn't be an outsider to be mocked and despised. Your dream is an admirable one, Edelgard. But I cannot condone your methods."

"Nor I myself," Edelgard agrees. "Those Who Slither in the Dark were always a means to an end. I could never let them exist if the new world I desire is to prosper. But I need their strength if I am to face the church. And there's also an old saying: 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.' Every last trace of them will be eradicated the moment this war ends, whether or not I am the victor. Once that is accomplished, if I am not dead, I would like to step down and live the rest of my days in isolation as I wait to die."

"If you won't lead the newly unified empire, then who will?" Claude asks.

"You."

"You would leave all of your accomplishments for me to claim?"

Edelgard nods without a moment's hesitation, sure in her decision. "I would. Before, I thought you were honestly a bit of a fool. Intelligent and quick-witted, but unwise to the way of the world. But I sorely misjudged you, Claude. You are more worthy than I to lead Fodlan into the new dawn. Will you do it? Will you walk this path with me?"

Edelgard offers Claude her hand, the gesture loaded with meaning. Claude stares at it, frozen as he stands at a fork in the road. Here, his choices are clear: decline, and risk maintaining the status quo. It wouldn't necessarily make him an enemy of Edelgard now, but there would inevitably be a conflict between them. Or he could pursue his lifelong dream of unifying Fodlan and creating an egalitarian country for anyone and everyone, even if he must wade through the blood of countless people. The way he sees it, though, his hands are already stained. How many lives has he taken at this point? How many people have been victimized by his schemes? Claude can't remember. If one final sacrifice can mean no one else will suffer again, Claude knows what he must do.

He reaches out and firmly takes Edelgard's hand in acceptance.


	3. Chapter 3

Dimitri and his army return to Fhirdiad licking their wounds, the gathered crowds silent as they watch their famed knights return in neither victory nor defeat. That the Empire could not truly win is the least that can be said of this ill-fated campaign, but that knowledge will be of little consolation to those who lost loved ones to the fighting. More casualties in Edelgard's pointless bid for power, with no end in sight.

Both soldier and minister alike give Dimitri a wide berth as he stalks his way through the castle. Before, it would have hurt to have his people avoid him like this, whether out of fear or respect. Now, he knows they keep away entirely due to fear, and the thought does not bother him as much as it would have in the past. He has earned this fear, and he will wield it like a blade. But Dimitriunderstands this reputation is more a shield than a blade, and to let someone see beyond it would be to let them see the weak man that hides behind. And a king cannot afford to be weak. There are too many people who have placed their faith in him.

"How fared the battle, King Dimitri?" Rhea greets him in the empty throne room of the royal castle, wearing a sickly-sweet smile that does not reach her eyes.

Dimitri can sense the unhinged despot that lingers just beneath that polished veneer of serenity; he knows it's there because he lived almost his entire life like that. Only during battle would the beast within reveal itself, but it was always easy to claim the ferocity with which he fought as merely a warrior trying to protect his country. On the battlefield, Dimitri always felt more alive than anyone else. Maybe it was the sensation of control, or maybe the lack of order that exists only in a bloody struggle. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed watching the light leave his enemies' eyes, knowing that the crown's justice gave Dimitri the right to hurt and kill.

"Enough games, Rhea," Dimitri says roughly, but he still meets her two-faced contempt with an even gaze. "You know full well the outcome." Now in the archbishop's presence, Dimitri can only recall Edelgard and Byleth's words. That Rhea is not merely the archbishop, but the one pulling all the string behind the shadows. Perhaps it is not wise, but Dimitri still decides to broach the topic. "But I have a question of my own for you: is it true that you are a daughter of the goddess? I beheld your form at the battle for Garreg Mach five years ago."

A brief flash of uncertainty flashes across Rhea's face, suddenly wondering why Dimitri is pursuing this line of questioning, but she chooses to be up front and civil about it. "Yes, five years ago. So why ask now, King Dimitri?" Rhea's smile disappears in an instant, her lips pursed in a severe line when she realizes why Dimitri would question her only now. "You spoke with the apostate emperor."

The atmosphere in the room is tense and frigid, but it is liable to ignite into an all-consuming blaze with one misstep. Dimitri smirks to himself inwardly. Even if it means Edelgard is right (at least in this regard), knowing that Rhea is attempting to manipulate him to her own ends is a victory enough—but to make an open enemy of her now would be folly. "Only briefly, and with Byleth as well. I had been captured, but—"

"Do not dare speak that thief's name in my presence," Rhea commands, an unearthly and inhuman timbre sneaking into her imperious voice. "Do you seek to betray me? I could raze your country to the ground and all you would be able to do is watch and plead for mercy. I may be your guest, Your Highness, but we both know it is I who holds power here."

"Our alliance still stands," Dimitri reassures her. "You will help me slay Edelgard, and I will deliver the thief to you. We share a common goal."

Fed up with dealing with the archbishop, Dimitri makes his way for a nearby hallway to simply get away, not caring where it takes him. It irks him, but he knows the archbishop is right: the church simply holds too much power between the citizens and the knights for him to outright oppose her. But simply knowing Rhea's true nature is more than enough for Dimitri.

Enemies within and enemies without.

All he has to do is kill them all.

* * *

Back in the throne room, Rhea uncontrollably gnaws away at her fingernails, her doll-like features contorted into an ugly grimace. She has done nothing but help these humans, and they always repay her with betrayal. She thought maybe they could be redeemed, or at least shepherded like a farmer would his livestock. Her eyes are finally opened to what she must do.

"Once Mother returns to me, these vile insects will pay. . .oh, yes. . .they will all burn for their sins. Catherine!" she summons her loyal knight.

Catherine appears, looking haggard and resigned. "Yes, Lady Rhea?"

"I suspect that Dimitri seeks to turn on me once he gets what he wants. If he betrays me, set fire to the city. Let none out."

Catherine can't see Rhea's face now, but she is afraid of what she would find. What had happened to the kind and gentle woman who had rescued Catherine from the brink of death? She can hardly recognize Rhea anymore. "Rhea!" she objects, hoping to bring Rhea back to her senses. "But why—"

"Would you betray me as well, Catherine?!"

Catherine knows what Rhea asks of her is wrong, inhumane. But she owes Rhea her life, and such debts can never be paid in full. ". . .I'll do it."

Catherine hopes she won't have to.

* * *

"Your Majesty." Dedue dutifully waits for his liege just out of earshot of the throne room, bearing his usual inscrutable stern expression. Dimitri knows Dedue is absolutely furious with Dimitri, but he also knows that Dedue will hold his tongue. Dedue does it not only out of loyalty and respect, but also because he too would have done the same if he were a more rash man. Dimitri wonders how he has been so lucky to have such a steadfast ally by his side despite Dimitri's callous treatment towards everyone, even his oldest friends.

"Dedue. . .I won't apologize." But Dimitri can't meet Dedue's eyes. Not because he of the disappointment or anger he might find, but the understanding and compassion. Dimitri may have saved Dedue's life during the tragedy of Duscur, but Dedue has repaid that debt many times over. It would not be unreasonable to say that Dimitri now owes his life to Dedue.

"I understand, King Dimitri. Come. It has been a long and arduous day. You need your rest for the battles to come."

Dimitri allows himself to be ushered back to his chambers by Dedue.

* * *

For the duration of the whole march back to Fhirdiad, Felix could only bitterly curse the wild boar. Had everyone else become so blind to what their king has become? Was he the only one who saw the man beneath the mask back when Dimitri put down the rebellion seven years ago? All of the world's evils were concentrated in Dimitri's face. It was then that Felix lost his faith in his king. In his friend.

And Felix's crisis of faith is only vindicated more and more as time goes on. While the Empire was not able to actually defeat the Kingdom at Gronder, the return to the capital is still a humiliating one. Faerghus had been poised to break through the enemy lines, striking a blow that would cripple the Empire's standing army while also seizing its military heartland. Instead, the proud knights of Faerghus returned home with their tails between their legs. If Dimitri had not let his thirst for revenge get the better of him, maybe things would be different. But maybe that's asking too much. And maybe Felix should only blame himself for staying by Dimitri's side for so long.

Now, deep into the night, Felix stews in a drawing room in the royal castle, joined only by Ingrid and Sylvain. They each sit there in silence: Felix with his thoughts, Ingrid reading her silly book, and Sylvain with a cup of hot tea. In the past, the childhood friends could have simply sat quietly and enjoyed each other's company; now the silence feels oppressive, like they are strangers who don't know how to talk to one another. Out of nowhere, however, Ingrid suddenly yells.

"This can't go on!" She stands up emphatically, slamming a fist on a nearby side table. Sylvain jumps, startled by the noise, but Felix is unperturbed as always. Ingrid wildly gestures, trying to make her point. "We have to do. . .I don't know, something!"

"What's there to do?" Felix coldly asks her.

"We have to stop him! Dimitri needs help, he needs us now more than ever!" Ingrid says.

Felix scoffs, causing Ingrid to flush red with anger. "The Dimitri we once knew is dead, buried back in Duscur. Now he is but a beast who hungers for blood. He revels in the cruelty of slaughter. Nothing more than a wild boar."

"Watch your tongue! He is our king! Our friend! You owe him your respect and loyalty, even your life!" Ingrid indignantly shouts.

Loyalty? Honor? Felix marvels at how Ingrid can still cling to those foolish knightly ideals of chivalry. Has she not seen the horror of war? There is no honor in killing, it is but a matter of life and death. Nothing else. Ingrid had always been this way since Glenn died, but Felix had hoped, somewhere deep down, that she would learn to grow and move on. But she remains blindly obedient, unable to think for herself.

"Respect and loyalty are earned, not owed simply because of status. And my life? Dimitri would throw my life away without a second thought. And you would gladly do the same for him without question. You're just like him, Ingrid. You are so beholden to the dead that you have forgotten the living. Glenn would be disappointed."

Ingrid storms forth and grabs Felix by the collar. Despite her shorter stature and their difference in size, years of training and fighting have given her the strength to pull Felix down to her eye level. Despite it all, Felix is still stone-faced. "That's the difference between you and me. You want to run away from the past and forget everyone we've lost. You think by bringing your brother into this you make some sort of point? You don't care for him at all, Felix."

Lightning flashes in Felix's eyes, a rare surge of emotion from the usually dispassionate warrior. "Do you really think that, Ingrid? Do you think I don't long to have my brother back? I question myself every day: why do I get to live, but not Glenn? But you and Dimitri have turned him into a martyr, some sort of ideal even though he died so pointlessly. Chivalry, honor? Excuses to mindlessly obey the atrocities your king orders you to commit."

Ingrid can no longer stand to listen to Felix, but neither Sylvain nor Felix expected Ingrid to draw her blade and place it at Felix's throat. "Your words are treason, Felix."

"Hey, there's no need for that!" Sylvain jumps up, sending his cup of tea flying from his table. The delicate ceramic instantly shatters to pieces, the fragrant liquid slowly soaking into the carpeted floor. But Felix has more pressing issues than mourning the loss of a cup of good tea. "Ingrid, Felix, why don't we all calm down. . .you're both just too stressed right now," Sylvain tries to convince his friends.

"On the contrary, my mind has never been clearer." Felix decisively steps toward the edge of Ingrid's sword, but she pulls the blade back in a panic before Felix can slit his own throat on it. "What happened to all that conviction, Ingrid? You were so willing to pull your blade on me, yet you can't follow through. This country has become rotten to its very core. I cannot stomach to serve Dimitri any longer." Felix turns on his heel and marches for the door, his mind made up. "Strike me down now, if you can."

Ingrid only watches as her childhood friend disappears into the shadowed castle corridor, unable to bring herself to kill him. Her sword slips from her fingers and her knees suddenly give out, and now she no longer feels so sure of herself. Sylvain wants to move to comfort her, but he does not know how. He silently takes a knee next to Ingrid, offering himself as support should she desire it.

"Where did everything go so wrong?" Ingrid murmurs, more to herself than Sylvain.


	4. Chapter 4

With the Kingdom retreating back beyond its borders, both the Empire and the Alliance once again secure passage to Garreg Mach, which was also abandoned by its token garrison of Kingdom knights. After the bloody struggle at Gronder, both the Empire and Kingdom need much time to recover and reorganize. Edelgard and Claude manage to capitalize on this temporary cessation of hostilities, taking advantage of the Leceister Alliance's fully ready military to seize control of Garreg Mach monastery and with it a strategically invaluable position in the heart of Fodlan. With a foothold to the north secure, Edelgard marshals the bulk of her forces to Garreg Mach, though she does leave station defensive forces at Bergliez and Enbarr. Similarly, Claude gathers his troops and brings them to the monastery, dispatching several detachments to reinforce the Alliance-Kingdom border and the capital of Deirdru.

As a history of a neutral zone between the three countries, Garreg Mach is naturally chosen as the ideal location for the Empire and Alliance to hash out a proper, official agreement. Even if both heads of state came to an informal agreement, international politics are not so easily resolved with a firm handshake. Edelgard does not look forward to more mind-numbing paperwork and discussion, of which she has had plenty while leading the Empire to war. But she knows it is absolutely vital that every last detail be looked after with strict diligence, and she knows that she will not be alone in her task.

The return to Garreg Mach is blessedly uneventful and a welcome respite from the rigors of a military campaign, but it could not truly be described as peaceful. Every step of the way, the ravages of war are evident across the land. Prosperous villages once bustling with life are naught but burnt-out husks of their former selves, the bountiful fields reduced to mere cinder. Makeshift grave intermittently line the road to the monastery, but only for those lucky enough to have a burial. Both fresh and old corpses are not an uncommon sight along the route, and it is impossible to tell whether they are from actual battles or bandit raids. At least the brigands lack the temerity and strength to assault the combined forces of the Alliance and Empire as they journey back to Garreg Mach, but Edelgard can clearly see the strife that has been wrought by this war. Yet another issue she must address sooner rather than later.

The years have not been kind to Garreg Mach, given the church being run out of its ancestral home and the climactic battle that occurred five years ago. But on the whole, the monastery is in surprisingly good condition, the majority of the damage happening to the outlying town and the cathedral. For the Empire and Alliance's purposes the monastery will more than prove sufficient.

But beyond military and politics, Garreg Mach holds a special place in Edelgard's heart. It was here at the academy that she felt she could finally be herself for the first, and only, time. Here she spent peaceful days, living life not as the future Emperor but just a simple girl, a life she never thought she could experience. Just walking through the imposing main gates causes nostalgia to well up in Edelgard's throat, and she's thankful that no one tries to talk to her now; she knows she would hardly be able to choke out a proper response.

Most importantly, however, is the professor. The professor was the first person who had ever treated Edelgard as just Edelgard, saw beyond things like status and crests. To Byleth, Edelgard was not an experimental pawn to be used in revenge against the church, not a superior who must always be obeyed and respected, not as a leader who must be infallible and a beacon of hope. To Byleth, she was just herself. Edelgard. Perhaps that is why Edelgard feels so close to the professor, she has always craved that feeling of normalcy. Of being treated as an equal.

Edelgard had spent much time at the monastery following the battle for Garreg Mach, when the professor disappeared beneath the collapsing cathedral. It had been a pivotal if transient victory for the Empire, and for a time Edelgard felt that maybe she truly could change the world. But the absence of that familiar and comforting presence by her side gnawed away at her confidence and even her health. Edelgard never truly lost faith that the professor would return. She knew if she did, her own resolve would falter.

But even now, she still has her doubts. And to succumb to them would be fatal.

* * *

Of all the people present in the council, Ferdinand was the last one Byleth would have expected to take control. Ferdinand had always viewed himself as Edelgard's rival (and superior), but those dreams were easily dashed at every turn. It wouldn't entirely be out of character for Ferdinand to once again try to outshine Edelgard, even in an important time such as this, but he still impresses Byleth with his mastery of statecraft and ardent attention to every last, minute detail.

"Lord Riegan—"

"For the last time, you can just call me Claude!" Claude tiredly protests, fed up with more than just Ferdinand's careful observation of proper conduct.

"Again, Lord Riegan—"

Claude sighs heavily.

"—it is an important matter to address trade between our two nations. As it stands now, there are taxes when goods cross the border in either direction, which results in a natural inflation of prices that the commonfolk must burden. If we intend to form a proper union, economics are just as important as the military. Can we truly believe we are changing the world for the better if we cannot help those who need it?" Ferdinand passionately asks.

"Look, Ferdinand—"

"Please call me Prime Minister, or Lord Aegir."

Claude purses his lips but agrees to follow Ferdinand's decorum. "Prime Minister. I agree with you, okay? I strive for equality just as much as you and the Emperor, and your ideas have much merit. But do we really need to talk about trade when we have a war on our hands?"

"It's only natural to do so while we have the opportunity. Pray that misfortune does not befall any of us, but if it does, we would at least have prepared our countries to work together towards a brighter shared future."

Edelgard, simultaneously bored and amused by Ferdinand, looks over to Byleth. Her teacher is watching the proceedings with an intense interest, perhaps the only person in the room who is appreciative of Ferdinand's adversarial approach in the bettering of Fodlan. Edelgard can understand that Ferdinand sees it as his duty to speak out against his emperor so that he may find and eliminate any oversights nor mistakes, but she finds herself thinking that he just needs to learn to shut up. Open borders and whatnot are very important issues, yes, but Ferdinand's primary achievement at these talks has been increasing everyone else's frustration. While they dally here, trying to compose and ratify a historic treaty, their enemies to the north gather their strength and formulate strategy.

"Are you proposing an elimination of all import and export taxes?" Byleth asks, genuinely curious. Ferdinand lights up, delighted that someone actually wants to listen to his positions of trade policy.

"While that would be ideal, that simply is impossible while the Empire and the Alliance remain two separate nation-states. Unification sounds farfetched, but perhaps if. . ."

Claude groans loudly, a sentiment Edelgard internally mirrors herself.

* * *

Day after day of fruitless negotiation (or rather, extensively drawn out negotiation) has only served to run Edelgard more and more ragged Between running the Empire and its military, preparing to conduct a large-scale invasion of Faerghus, attending to various other housekeeping tasks ranging from political squabbles to internal security, and debating the hopeful alliance at a glacial pace, Edelgard's stress is greatly exacerbated. Even mere days after the professor's disappearance and the five years that followed, Edelgard found sleep did not come easily, but now it is rare for her to catch more than a couple hours' rest at a time. Many days, she simply does not sleep, but she bears her exhaustion with nary a complaint. As Emperor, she must lead by example, no matter what. She must always present herself as impeccable and decisive, no one must see the haggard and insecure girl that shoulders the crimson mantle.

But in truth, it is not the mountain of work Edelgard must face that keeps her from sleep. Just as she has for all her life, Edelgard has nightmares. But it is no longer just the nightmares of her childhood that torment her. Now, she can hardly close her eyes without seeing the faces of those who have died because of her actions. She cannot put names to every face, but every single one of them stares into the depths of Edelgard's soul and say but one word: why? Plaintively, over and over again, the dead beg of Edelgard. Why?

A question she has come to ask herself more and more often.

On yet another sleepless night, Edelgard steals from her chambers to simply wander about the monastery, memories of fonder times flashing through her mind as she explores her former home. Would that she could have stayed in these cherished halls forevermore, surrounded by smiles and laughter. If she closes her eyes, she can almost see the golden afternoon sunlight stream in through the beautiful stained-glass windows, the harsh glare hardly a nuisance as she can hear the echoes of warm chatter in storied halls. She can almost feel the warm kiss of the sun, the refreshingly crisp autumn breeze, see the clear blue expanse of the afternoon sky stretch on for miles. But time cruelly marches forward.

Edelgard could have just let her duties, her dreams, fall to the wayside. Maybe then she could have held on to that fleeting happiness just a little more. But with light, there is shadow. And in the shadows, darkness stirs both in the hearts of the church and the Empire. To not act would be to yield to that darkness, let it take hold of the world in a crushing, hopeless grasp. For a thousand years these two ancient powers had borne grudges for a millennium, and she cannot in good conscience allow them to hold sway over Fodlan and humanity any longer. The people of Fodlan must not be mere tools for these inhuman ancients. Edelgard has faith in her choice to fight back, but it is a choice she regrets. Because of her, countless lives have been lost, families and friends forever torn apart. Her own sacrifices pale in comparison to the magnitude of her actions, and she knows she cannot escape that. To turn away from the truth would be to betray her dream, her ideals. She must bear every burden and never forget.

Edelgard ends up in the ruined cathedral, the night sky visible through the gaping hole in the structure's roof. She shivers as a night chill wafts through the airy building, but her attention is fixated far beyond into the sky on the distant, twinkling stars. So transfixed is Edelgard that she does not notice that she has company until Byleth accidentally kicks a small rock, the clattering stone echoing throughout the cavernous chapel.

"Oh! My teacher," Edelgard greets Byleth, a bit surprised and sheepish at being found sneaking around the monastery at night. She is no longer a child or student, but Edelgard still feels like she's been caught doing something wrong. "We haven't had an opportunity to talk, have we? Just the two of us, that is."

"Edelgard," Byleth reciprocates the greeting, somehow easily able to see beyond the title of Emperor and speak to the girl who hides behind. "We haven't. Bad dreams again?" she asks, remembering the nightmares Edelgard would have of her childhood. The question elicits a small, startled jolt from Edelgard, a tiny reaction which Byleth most certainly catches.

"I. . .I suppose so," Edelgard answers evasively, unwilling to tell the truth. Better to tell the professor a small lie, to pretend that everything is okay—or as okay as traumatic nightmares of the past can be. Edelgard need not burden the professor with the horrific visions and voices Edelgard sees and hears when no one else is around. Alone she sowed the seeds of war and strife; alone she will reap her harvest.

Still, it brings Edelgard no small joy to speak with Byleth again in a more intimate, familiar setting. A chance to talk off the battlefield or away from the negotiating table and instead a furtive nighttime chat, just like old times. To spend time again with her teacher, no, her friend, without the societal expectations attached to their vastly different statuses is a wonderfully nostalgic feeling for Edelgard.

"I never stopped believing you would come back," Edelgard tells Byleth, moving the conversation away from Edelgard's nightmares. There is no need for such sobering talk, not when they are finally reunited.

"Thank you for waiting for me, for having faith in me." Byleth reaches out to take Edelgard's hand, but the moment their fingers barely brush Edelgard violently recoils, as if just merely touching each other had burned her. The pale moonlight is more than enough for the professor to see the crimson flush that fills Edelgard's cheeks, but Edelgard tries to tell herself that Byleth can't see it.

"Oh! Sorry, professor. You startled me. That's all." Or so Edelgard tries to claim, but Byleth has her doubts.

"Are you sure?"

Edelgard feels like she can't breathe, only to realize that she isn't. She exhales, letting out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Can Edelgard really confide in the professor again? She knows Byleth will listen, will try to help, but Edelgard knows she is beyond help or redemption. Still, Edelgard yearns for a chance she knows she doesn't deserve.

Byleth steps closer and reaches for Edelgard's hands again. This time, Edelgard manages to suppress the inexplicable impulse to pull away. "You can tell me anything. Please, if something is bothering you, El. . . ."

It feels silly, and it's the tiniest gesture in the world, but Byleth's use of Edelgard's old pet name does more to break down the walls around Edelgard's heart more than anything else ever has. Walls Edelgard had built so she would never get hurt again, but the professor had so easily slipped inside Edelgard's heart and become indispensable to her. Something must be wrong with Edelgard if an old pet name can so easily sway her heart and mind, that's the only explanation Edelgard can muster. Perhaps the stress and fatigue are taking their toll on her. But Edelgard caves, knowing that she can't run away forever. Not from Byleth. "Always the perceptive one, aren't you?" Edelgard sighs ruefully.

Taking the inch Edelgard gives her, Byleth instead takes a mile. "Edelgard. . .do you regret what you've done? Do you hate yourself?"

Edelgard immediately knows the answer to the question, but she struggles to say it out loud. To tell Byleth is unconscionable. Every waking moment, and even when she is unconscious, she is filled with second thoughts and self-hatred. She longs for those days where her biggest worries were looking after her classmates or preparing for an upcoming exam, but she could not stay carefree forever. Her days are numbered. To sit back quietly and accept her fate, accept the way of the world, was never an option. She was the last of the Hresvelg line, her father rendered weak and powerless while her siblings are all mad, crippled, or dead. With her death and the end of the imperial bloodline, nothing would stand in the way of her uncle and the conspirators of the Insurrection of the Seven from taking complete control of the Empire and continuing the tyranny of the crests. The blood of the heroes would continue to grow weaker and weaker, and soon desperate people would turn to the brutality and horror of human experimentation. No, laying down and peacefully waiting to die was never an option. But sometimes Edelgard wishes it was.

Byleth, however, takes Edelgard's silence as affirmation—which, to be fair, is correct. "Why?"

That question again. The refrain of the dead and the damned, Edelgard's self-doubt and second thoughts summed up in a single word. And now, the professor seeking some way, no matter how small, to help Edelgard. What has Edelgard done to deserve Byleth? Edelgard can only muster a weak, trembling voice when she answers. "Don't you hate me?"

"Why?"

Again! Over and over, Edelgard can never escape that infernal question. Edelgard can't take it anymore. Finally, she erupts in a torrent of emotion, her anger a poor mask for her desperation, her cry for help. "You should hate me! I'm the reason your father died! If it weren't for me, Dimitri and his family would be okay! Countless people would still be alive, living happy and peaceful lives! If it weren't for me, everything would be fine!"

"Did you hold the blade?" Byleth asks. "Did you slay Dimitri's family and people? Yes, perhaps you carry some blame for this war, but do you do it for a just cause? Tell me, Edelgard: do you want to bear the weight of every sin, even ones you did not commit?"

"It is my duty!" Edelgard vehemently insists, surprised that Byleth does not show any ill-will or hatred towards her. She cannot believe the professor would so easily forgive her. "As the Emperor, I must! There will be no—"

Byleth cuts her off. "What do you want? Not the Emperor. What does Edelgard von Hresvelg want?"

"I. . ." Edelgard trails off. What does she truly want? Looking beyond what the Emperor wants, what the idealist wants. Just the young girl that hiding, buried deep within. She knows what Edelgard wants, but Edelgard wants the impossible. Edelgard does not dare bother the professor with such a childish dream, so she ignores the question entirely. "I should have died in that dungeon all those years ago. . .the world would be a better place."

Byleth had never shown much emotion, though she had slowly opened up over her short stint as a teacher at the academy. Her students had shown her what it was like to smile, to cry, to feel, to live. She still found it difficult to display her emotions; the only time she ever let her emotions take over was when her father died. But now, Byleth can't ignore the pang that grips her heart, that causes tears to well in her eyes. "Do you want to die?" she asks haltingly, the pain she feels for Edelgard clear on her face.

"I don't know," Edelgard answers truthfully. Some days she really thinks she does, but other days she longs for bygone days where life seemed so full of hope. But then she is always reminded that whether she wishes to die or not does not matter, for she already lives on borrowed time. Is it Edelgard's acceptance of her own mortality that keeps her moving forward? But suicidal or not, Edelgard knows one thing for certain. "I deserve to."

Despite being the one pouring her heart and soul out, Edelgard is taken aback it is Byleth who cries first. Edelgard only feels guiltier for laying all of her problems on Byleth, both Edelgard's emotional scars as well as Byleth's own old wounds. All Edelgard has done is take from the professor, now she realizes that she has never truly given back to the woman who had always been there for her. But in a way, Edelgard is secretly glad, though the notion disgusts her. Byleth had only shown this kind of emotion once before: when Jeralt died, and during Byleth's subsequent quest for vengeance. To know she means so much to Byleth is reassuring, even if this bond now causes her so much agony.

Edelgard gasps in surprise when Byleth drags her into a fierce embrace, much too startled (and a bit pleased) to protest or wriggle away. She lets Byleth bury her tearstained face in the crook of Edelgard's neck, and Edelgard watches as the professor's shoulders tremble with small, quiet sobs. She awkwardly wraps her own arms around Byleth, giving her what she hopes is a reassuring rub on the back. Edelgard is acutely aware of their close proximity, of the tangible feeling of Byleth in her arms, of the subtle fragrance of Byleth's hair, of the gentle sound of her voice.

Only now does Edelgard want to answer Byleth's question, to tell her what Edelgard really wants. But no matter how much she wants to, Edelgard is forever conscious of Byleth's feelings and her own doomed fate, what awaits Edelgard at her war's end—come victory or defeat.

So she stays silent and hugs Byleth just a little bit tighter.

And for the first time Edelgard can remember, she lets herself cry.


	5. Chapter 5

The great hall is dead silent, save for the barely audible scratching of a quill on parchment. The magnitude of the day is not missed by any present, but the affair is mostly understated. There are no grand proceedings, just tired leaders and diplomats glad to finally have settled perhaps the most important political agreement of their time. With the signing of the document, the Adrestian Empire and Leicester Alliance aren't quite reunited, but the fates of the two countries are now tied together.

Claude tosses down his quill without any ceremony, letting out a great sigh of relief. It has been an arduous process, courtesy of Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir, but Claude does feel just a little bit happy at the final result. In addition to a military alliance, instrumental groundwork has been laid down to help create an enduring union, and Claude can at least appreciate Ferdinand for that. But that doesn't stop Claude from sneaking a dirty glance at the prime minister, which is returned with a satisfied smile.

And while there has been a lull in conflict since the titanic clash at Gronder, the Empire and Alliance have surely lost valuable time to the Kingdom and Church. Hashing out the treaty has taken time away from military planning and logistics, a disadvantage that cannot be forgotten—after all, the future of the two nations is only secure so long as they do not lose this war.

So no respite awaits once the politics are finally finished. The professor looks knowingly at both Edelgard and Claude, and a long overdue war council is set to be convened. The discussion is bound to be tedious and fraught with disagreements, but Claude is actually excited to discuss war after nearly a fortnight of listening to Ferdinand drone on and on.

The diplomats and bureaucrats are swiftly replaced with a select few of Edelgard and Claude's most trusted military advisors as well as some former academy staff and students. With everyone gathered around, Byleth takes charge of the meeting given her aptitude for battle tactics. "Our position at Garreg Mach is strategically invaluable." Byleth places a pair of pieces onto the board, representing the Empire and Alliance. "Based in the heart of Fodlan, we can easily access any region. We can both defend our own lands and commence an invasion from here. On the other hand, it can be logically concluded that the archbishop and the Knights of Seiros are also operating out of Fhirdiad, making our primary objective simple: defeat both enemy forces, capture the royal capital, end the war."

"It won't be as simple as storming the castle," Claude points out. "A straight shot to the capital is quick and direct, but it would also involve a lengthy supply chain that could easily be disrupted. Without addressing any other objectives in Kingdom territory, we'd be marching our way into certain encirclment."

Edelgard moves around towards the western side of the map, her eyes fixed on a single point. "Indeed. There is also Arianrhod, which houses a formidable garrison. So long as the city remains under Alliance control, any campaign north will leave the monastery, and by extension our own countries, vulnerable to counterattack. If we are to win this war, we must capture Arianrhod. The Fortress City. . .a bulwark between the Kingdom and Empire which has never fallen in all its history. Truly a daunting task."

"A siege of Arianrhod is only logical." Hubert steps forward from the shadows and picks up a marker from the map, giving it a critical eye as he speaks. "But as established, the city shall not fall so easily. If we take too long, we risk the Kingdom sending reinforcements to relieve the defenders, catching us between the city walls and the charging knights. Caught between the hammer and the anvil, so to speak."

"That is a risk we must take," Edelgard says, putting her foot down. "If we cannot successfully besiege Arianrhod, then we can never win this war. Professor, do you have any strategies for taking the city?"

"Given that the garrison at Arianrhod is but a fraction of the Kingdom's full military strength, one possibility would be to launch a two-pronged attack. A larger force lays siege to the city, while a smaller elite force quickly strikes at key military locations throughout Faerghus," Byleth says. "It will not be enough to fully draw Dimitri's attention away from the siege, but a series surgical strikes weakening what nearby forces they can marshal would be beneficial."

"How should we divide our forces, then?" Claude asks. "Integrating both armies will be difficult."

"It may prove impossible to do so fully," Edelgard amends her contemporary's statement. "But we must try. We should being with the creation of a joint command comprised of both Alliance and Imperial officers and generals."

"What of the strike force?" Lysithea asks, partially obscured behind Claude. "It is only natural to assign the most respected individuals in both armies to a joint command structure, but the strike force will also be in need of elite soldiers. And assuming the professor stays with the main force, the secondary force will need its own tactician."

"I'll leave the delegation of duties to Edelgard and Claude," Byleth says. "They know their own officers and soldiers the best, and we can devise our deployment later. For now, we must focus on our current objective."

"Arianrhod is under the command of Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius, known as the Shield of Faerghus for his martial prowess. There have also been rumors of a powerful mage joining the garrison at Arianrhod," Hubert supplies, his information no doubt sourced firsthand.

"The Shield and the Fortress. . ." Claude scratches his chin in contemplation. "Can we really win?"

Edelgard shakes her head to dismiss his negativity. "It's not a matter of 'can.' We must."

* * *

For such a pivotal event, the signing of the treaty between the Empire and Alliance comes and goes with little fanfare. So little that Dorothea is unaware of what has transpired until the day after—and only because the uneasy but peaceful days at the monastery are shattered by the mass mobilization of military forces and the beginning of war preparations.

Dorothea hates it. No matter what, she can't escape: there is always more fighting. Her aversion to war isn't rooted in doubts of Edelgard or Edelgard's cause. Dorothea can certainly see and appreciate the value and logic in dismantling the crest system and reforming society across Fodlan. Sure, the dissolution of the noble class would make it much more difficult for Dorothea to simply marry her way into a secure future, but didn't she first come to the monastery to grow as a person? Maybe she has become the kind of person who can stand on her own and live her own life, rather than be beholden and dependent upon another. Dorothea would like to think so, but her lack of conviction is telling.

But even if Dorothea is still unsure about fighting, she could never have brought herself to betray Edelgard, to turn on her friend. But Edelgard is far from Dorothea's sole friend, and Dorothea has friends on both sides of the war, courtesy of her time as something of a social butterfly during her academy days. At first Dorothea had been hunting for a spouse, someone who could provide for her and save her from a life on the streets, but eventually Dorothea soon enjoyed spending time with people not for their status but for their company. These people she had grown so close to. . .Dorothea's heart is seized with dread at the possibility of seeing familiar faces on the other side of the battlefield. Dorothea has fought and killed before, and she has long accepted that death is a possibility in battle. But could she bring herself to kill a friend? Could they strike her down? Dorothea prays she will never find out.

Beset on all sides by the signs of impending war, Dorothea escapes to one of the few refuges in the monastery untouched by the ravages of war or the battle five years ago. The greenhouse is slightly cramped and a little bit too warm, but Dorothea doesn't really mind. It helps her imagine that she's somewhere else, somewhere far away from the pain and suffering of war, from friends fighting friends, from families being torn asunder. The cost of war is so high. Too high. Dorothea must wonder: is Edelgard's vision truly worth it all?

Fodlan had been mostly peaceful for a long time. Surely there could have been a peaceful solution? Claude willingly came to the bargaining table so easily, after all. Dimitri and the Kingdom of Faerghus would have been a taller order, but even that might not have been impossible. But, Dorothea realizes, the barrier to Edelgard's new world was never the other countries—it was the church. The church holds so much power and influence throughout Fodlan, and it would never stand for the abolition of the crest system. To take a stand would be to court utter destruction, and Edelgard would not quietly accept that fate. So maybe war is the only way after all.

In Dorothea's little retreat, it is not uncommon for others to also seek a moment of respite, hidden away in this tiny corner of Garreg Mach. The monastery is far emptier now than it was five years ago, yet people of all walks of life seem to gravitate to the greenhouse for some peace of mind. Perhaps something about the plants is soothing, or maybe it is simply nice and quiet. This time, upon arriving at her destination, Dorothea spies a familiar hue of light blue peeking from among the vibrant flora.

"Oh, Marianne!" Dorothea greets her companion, easily adopting a lightly cheerful tone. "It's nice to see you."

"It is nice to see you as well, Dorothea," Marianne politely and demurely responds.

Dorothea made many friends at the monastery, not a few of whom were outside of the Black Eagle class, but she was never that close to Marianne—though not for lack of trying. She would often reach out, invite Marianne for tea or a chat, but was always rebuffed. Marianne very much kept to herself, almost to an unhealthy degree, and lacked the same confidence and self-assuredness with which Dorothea carried herself. The Alliance noble just did not try to get close to anyone, preferring to keep everyone at arm's length. Dorothea isn't quite sure why, though she has her own suspicions, though she's also heard all manner of unsavory rumors that she would rather not put stock in.

"I'm sure you've heard the good news by now, right?" Dorothea asks conversationally, trying to avoid awkward silence.

Marianne hums her confirmation, focus still firmly fixed on tending to the garden. Dorothea can't tell if she's bothering Marianne or not, and she would certainly feel guilty if that were the case. But the greenhouse is a public space, and Dorotha sorely needs to talk to someone to help keep her mind off the war. And maybe she could bring a little bit of brightness to someone else's day. Dorothea hovers around Marianne, peering over her shoulder at the flowers.

No matter how much Dorothea wants to forget about the war, she just can't shake it from her thoughts, and the question spills forth before she can corral it. "Do you truly believe we are doing the right thing?" Dorothea knows better than to spill her heart out to someone, especially Marianne, who isn't exactly someone Dorothea can call a confidant. But she needs to know if she is the only one who is always second-guessing herself, if her constantly conflicted emotions can be validated.

"I do," Marianne answers quietly but adamantly, surprising Dorothea.

"Why?"

"How familiar are you with the crests of the Ten Elites?" Marianne asks, but the question is more rhetorical than actually meant to be answered. "In our world, there are many crests that have been forgotten by time. But of the Ten Elites, there was one whose crest was stricken from history. Why? Because he overtaxed his relic weapon and transformed into a demonic beast. And so his became known as the Crest of the Beast, the crest I bear. And along with his crest, I bear his burdens. They say those with the crest are cursed with misfortune and will eventually become monsters who exist only to kill. For all my life, I thought that was my fate. To cause pain and suffering."

"What changed?" Dorothea asks, genuinely curious. If Marianne had been plagued by such hardship her whole life, Dorothea can see why she would be on board with the end of the crests. But for her to be so sure of her cause, something else must have spurred Marianne to grow.

"I changed." Marianne turns to face Dorothea at last, looking her in the eye. And in Marianne's gaze, Dorothea cannot recognize the timid and unconfident girl of five years ago. In her placed stands a woman who has cast of the shackles that bound her, a woman who would change the world. How far has Dorothea herself come in the last five years? When others look at her, do they see the same girl who would flit around in search of a husband?

"Someone once told me that I can choose to not carry those burdens," Marianne continues, her voice growing in strength and volume. "He once told me a story: there was a boy who came from a hated bloodline, so he was treated horribly even if he did nothing wrong. Just living was his crime. And nothing he could do would change anyone's mind. So, he ran away. But no matter where he went, he was hated for who he was and where he came from. He had nowhere to go."

"Then what could he do?"

Marianne is still looking right at Dorothea, but there's a far-off look in her eyes, like she's seeing beyond Dorothea and looking at something else. "He chose to destroy the boundaries between those two worlds."

"Destroy the boundaries. . . ." In the end, that was what this war was all about. Destroying the boundaries between commoners and nobles, creating a world where everyone is equal, where everyone has the same opportunity. As someone who grew up on the streets with no money, no home, and no family, Dorothea can't imagine a world without haves and have-nots, even if the sentiment is nice. Is it something truly worth killing for? Something truly worth dying for?

"No one will ever go through what I did. Never again," Marianne says with uncharacteristic (as far as Dorothea knew her) ferocity. "But what about you? Why will you fight?"

Dorothea doesn't know how to answer. Marianne fights for such a noble ideal, one borne from her own personal suffering. The thought of Marianne's past shaping her present resolve suddenly strikes Dorothea with a memory from the past: being so poor that she had to wash in a public fountain, only to be rudely gawked at by some noble brat. The absolute shame and embarrassment can still occasionally bring a tear to Dorothea's eye, and she knows that stories like hers are far too common. She thinks of all the children like her, growing up on the streets. All of those kids, not as fortunate as her, unable to free themselves from the vicious cycle of poverty. If nothing changes, there would be countless children, born into an uncaring world with no hope. Marianne's words resonate with Dorothea: never again.

Marianne looks uncomfortable because of Dorothea's reticence and realizes that she has accidentally touched on a (formerly) sensitive subject. "I apologize, Dorothea. I did not mean to pry."

"No, Marianne. Thank you. I think I now know why I must fight."


	6. Chapter 6

Edelgard wakes to the all-too familiar chittering of rats and inhuman shrieking of one of her poor siblings. The shrieking she has become somewhat inured to, but the tiny pitter-patter of rats scurrying around the pitch-black cell makes her quickly draw her feet close to herself-or as quickly as she can, the metallic cranking and protesting of the chains that bind her reminding her that she can't escape. Not from the rats, not from the torture.

In a sort of cruel mercy, the shackles around her wrists and ankles have long since rubbed the skin raw and bleeding, the incessant pain a distraction from the deafeningly loud wailing and hordes of rats. But the reprieve is short-lived as the screaming finally stops; whether it is because the torture is over or the victim is dead, Edelgard doesn't know. And she doesn't care, though she knows she should. But when the screaming stops, that means it may very well be her turn next.

She can see the knife in her mind's eye; a shining sliver of silver that catches the low light of the dungeon's torches, carving line after line into her body, staining her and itself a bloody crimson. She can almost feel the edge of the blade travel down her skin, slicing deep and baring her vulnerable insides to the vile machinations of her captors. With each approaching footstep, Edelgard can feel each of her scars throb in dull pain and her heart seizes with unspeakable terror. She prays that the footsteps pass her cell, but they stop right outside. With a scraping metallic sound, the lock on her cell door rasps open, and she awakens from her nightmare.

Edelgard bolts upright, heart pounding and her skin slick with the sheen of sweat. She knows she's safe now in her room at the monastery, but she still gingerly touches her wrists and ankles, finding smooth skin instead of iron shackles and blood. While her worries of imprisonment are easily dispelled, the possibility of encountering one of those detestable vermin in her room, staring at her with its beady black eyes, is still a very real possibility.

Once she finds nothing and is reassured that everything is okay, Edelgard rises from bed and quickly sheds her nightgown, the thin garment uncomfortably soaked through and clinging to her like a second skin. She briefly ponders donning some other clothing, but eventually opts to wear her usual imperial regalia, everything from crown to cloak to boots. It is only a set of clothing, but when she wears it, it somehow makes Edelgard feel safer. She wears it as proof that she weathered the darkness, proof that she has the power to change this world.

And an emperor has no time for night terrors or other such silly fears, though Edelgard sometimes wishes she were just born a normal girl. Maybe then she wouldn't have these nightmares, wouldn't carry these impossibly heavy burdens. She could live a normal, happy life. But if she had not been born into this responsibility, she would not have met the professor, and Edelgard knows she wouldn't trade that for anything.

Dressed and wide-awake, Edelgard makes for Garreg Mach's library, intent on conducting some last minute research before she joins the army to march for Arianrhod in the morning. It is already the eve of the campaign, but the war council is still debating how to capture Arianrhod. A traditional method of starving out the city's population and defenders is the most likely to succeed if it weren't for the all but guaranteed fact that Dimitri and his armies would rise to Lord Rodrigue's aid. Then, the Imperial-Alliance army, stretched thin in order to maintain the siege lines, would be as easily swept away by the knights of Faerghus as would a child's sand castle by the ocean tides. Other far more outlandish plans and ideas have been set forth, but all have been deemed too risky to attempt. It is already risky enough to move on Arianrhod without a solid plan, but they just can't delay any longer. Every moment they wait, the greater the odds are that Faerghus and the church seize the initiative.

The monastery library is almost always sparsely populated, given its location deep within the cathedral. Edelgard fondly runs her fingers along the worn wood of one of the tables, remembering all the time she spent here as a student. She's thankful that the centuries of knowledge preserved in this one room were not harmed during the battle five years ago, even if the collection intentionally omits some particular topics, courtesy of Rhea and Seteth. Edelgard quickly selects a few volumes and tactical treatises she is familiar with, along with a couple tomes she has yet to read, and sets about to poring over the knowledge of the past for any hints she may glean from the wisdom of those who came before.

Edelgard isn't sure how long she spends analyzing and imagining every strategy she comes across, but her concentration is broken by the sound of footsteps echoing down the stone halls. She briefly glances up, waiting for the owner of said footsteps to join her, though she isn't sure who she expects. Her first thought is the professor, though that may be wishful thinking on Edelgard's part. Beyond that, she honestly can't guess. Hubert seems just as likely, and Edelgard can easily eliminate Linhardt for fairly obvious reasons. Among her new compatriots from the Leicester Alliance, Edelgard has her suspicions, which are confirmed when she is finally joined by Lysithea.

"Oh! Your Majesty. I didn't expect to see you here," Lysithea greets her. She holds up a small notebook, covered in what appears to be Professor Hanneman's scrawling penmanship. "I was going to do some late-night studying of my own."

"Good evening, Lysithea. Please, just call me Edelgard." Edelgard gives a curt nod before returning her attention to her books.

The heir to House Ordelia wanders over to where Edelgard sits and takes a quick glance at the pages. "I found this particular strategist's insights to be rather interesting if a bit unorthodox. I think the unique perspectives she provides were an excellent contrast to the more traditional education we received at the monastery."

Edelgard scrutinizes a passage in the book, her mind running through various calculations and analyses. "Indeed. I can certainly appreciate the innovative tactics, particularly the use of diversions. I think it would make for some excellent discussion with the professor."

"Speaking of the professor," Lysithea grows alarmingly solemn, "have you told her yet?"

Edelgard knows exactly what Lysithea means, having done plenty of research on House Ordelia and House Hrym, but she attempts to feign ignorance anyways. "I'm sorry, told her what? I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're talking about, Lysithea."

"Don't play dumb, Edelgard." Lysithea places her hands on her hips, striking a much more imposing figure than she would have five years ago. Only now does Edelgard notice how much the once diminutive youngster has grown. Where Edelgard once towered over her, Lysithea now can look down on Edelgard (but only just). "Why you started this war against the church, why you want to abolish the crest system, the color of your hair. I know your secret, just as I'm sure you know mine. Just tell the truth."

Edelgard winces, hoping Lysithea would have the tact to not directly broach the subject. She had little hope that the prodigious woman would not see the signs—how could she not? Lysithea had lived through the exact same hell that Edelgard did, and Lysithea was always a bright student and inquisitive learner. Edelgard would be more surprised if Lysithea hadn't come to the conclusion that Edelgard bears two crests, just like herself. In that regard, Edelgard feels a sort of camaraderie with Lysithea, a mysterious sentiment that almost borders on protective, as if Lysithea were her younger sister.

"What secrets?" Edelgard continues to deflect, though her efforts are undoubtedly in vain. Lysithea is nothing if not persistent, and Edelgard finds herself almost wishing she were still in bed with her nightmares. Almost.

Undeterred, Lysithea pushes on. "You're dying."

Edelgard sighs. Of course Lysithea just has to go and say it out loud. Edelgard would be perfectly content to let the issue rest until after the war (if 'after the war' will even be a thing for her). To talk about her inevitable mortality now is only a distraction from her purpose, her duty. "So are you," Edelgard quips right back.

"Yes. I am. But you're not doing anything," Lysithea counters. "You're just waiting to die. Why?"

"What is there to do?" Edelgard asks.

"Something! Anything! More than just nothing!" Lysithea passionately insists, almost pleadingly. "The preeminent crest scholar in the entire continent has joined your cause! Surely his knowledge and expertise could prove of use? And even Linhardt—yes, sleepy old Linhardt—has approached me and offered his help! If you're just going to let your crests kill you, why start this war in the first place? Why not just quietly wait to die and let everyone else live peacefully? You wanted to make a world free of the crests' inequality. And you're just going to give up on life?"

"I am at peace with my fate," Edelgard tries to tell Lysithea. "I have but one purpose in this world, and once I have seen that through, there will be no need for me. If I were to stand by and do nothing, then who else could take the lead in changing our world? But I do not begrudge you. Live, Lysithea. The world will need people like you."

Lysithea all but shrieks in frustration, looking as if she's about ready to tear her own hair out. "Why don't you get it?!" Lysithea shouts, Edelgard's stubbornness awakening some of her more childish tendencies. "Fine! I hate to do this, but if you won't at least tell the professor, I will!" Making good on her threat, Lysithea turns on a dime and runs off. Edelgard initially considers letting her go, but she realizes that Lysithea is exactly the kind of person to go hammering on the professor's door in the middle of the night, hollering Edelgard's secret for the world to hear.

So Edelgard abandons her studies for the more pressing issue and takes off down the hallway after Lysithea. Edelgard's imperial regalia has a decent range of motion and provides ample protection, but one thing it does not afford her is speed. She lags behind Lysithea by a fairly large margin, one large enough that Edelgard struggles to quell the panic rising in the back of her throat. She cannot fathom what would happen if Lysithea exposed her secret to everyone. That she is going to die. Edelgard will not stand to be fussed over like some poor animal to be pitied. Hubert already does enough of that, though his actions are more like those of a stern mother watching over her child than those of a sympathetic bystander. Besides, Hubert is the one who has been by her side ever since she resolved to rebel against the church, so Edelgard can at least understand his concerns and worries. He, as well as the professor, numbers among her closest confidants, some of the only people she feels safe revealing her true self to.

Luckily, Edelgard's rigorous training in all manner of martial skills has granted her with more physical strength and stamina than Lysithea, whose primary tutelage fell under the more academic arts of magic and strategy. Just outside of the nobles' dormitory, Edelgard finally manages to catch Lysithea by the arm when Lysithea pauses to catch her breath.

"Let go!" Lysithea protests, yanking her arm hard enough that Edelgard fears she may accidentally dislocate it.

If Edelgard lets go, Lysithea will continue to run away to the professor. And if she doesn't, Lysithea will continue to squawk like a trapped animal, waking everyone in all of Garreg Mach. Damned if she does, damned if she doesn't. Caught in this dilemma, Edelgard tries to offer Lysithea a compromise. "Please, quiet down, Lysithea. Can we try talking this out?"

"Like you'll listen," Lysithea huffs contemptuously before opening her mouth wide to resume calling for help (or attention).

"I'll tell her!" Edelgard impulsively blurts out against her better judgment. "I promise."

Lysithea thankfully stops trying to pull away, potentially saving a visit to the healers that would be difficult to explain. She looks at Edelgard with a healthy amount of skepticism, but she takes the olive branch Edelgard has offered. "You promise?"

Edelgard gives a vigorous nod, almost dislodging her hair ornaments. "Yes."

"Tell who what?" Claude yawns, roused from his slumber by their squabbling. "What in the world are you two doing?"

"Edelgard is dying!" Lysithea shouts in a bid to force Edelgard's hand.

Her revelation doesn't have the intended effect, however. Claude just sleepily looks at Lysithea, mostly annoyed than anything else. ". . .Uh, yeah?"

On the one hand, Edelgard feels a little bit pleased that Lysithea's ultimatum fell so flat on its face. On the other hand, the fact that Claude knows is just as damning—if she can tell him, why can't she tell the professor?

And of course, Lysithea focuses on that disparity. "Wait. . .you told him?! Of all people?!"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Claude's protest goes unnoticed. "If you can tell Claude, why can't you tell the professor?" Lysithea asks, confused. "Were you and Claude always this close? Closer than you are with the professor?"

"It's complicated, okay?" Edelgard says. Which is true. The circumstances behind her divulging her secret to Claude were ones of necessity. If she were to earn his trust and cooperation, Edelgard needed him to understand that they shared the same ideals and dreams, not that she is some bloodthirsty conquering bent on domination.

As for her teacher. . .Edelgard can't explain why she can't bring herself to tell Byleth everything. Edelgard already told the professor about her two crests and how it all happened. She's shared so much of herself with the professor, things that she had kept hidden and suppressed for all her life, so what would one more little thing be? If one's death could be considered a 'little thing.'

"Look. . .maybe I shouldn't force you to tell her," Lysithea admits, her cooler side now starting to prevail. "But this is a matter of life and death. You two are nearly inseparable. . .don't you think it's only fair to tell the professor the truth?"

"I suppose you're right," Edelgard sighs. "It's just. . .it's hard."

"Well, you told me, didn't you?" Claude reminds her.

"That was different. Telling you was a matter of being able to see my vision of a new world come true," Edelgard says. "With the professor, it's more. . . ."

"More personal, right?" Claude supplies the word where Edelgard trails off. "If anything, all the more reason to tell her."

Edelgard knows Claude and Lysithea are right. Keeping secrets from the professor was always difficult for Edelgard. Especially ones as big as her identity as the Flame Emperor. Even now, Edelgard regrets donning the mask, but what choice did she have? It was either grudgingly ally herself with Arundel and his shadows and have a chance to change the world or die as a mere figurehead and leave the world at Arundel's mercy. But do the ends justify the means? And yet the professor, now knowing Edelgard's dual identity and what evil Edelgard has wrought, still accepts her. If Byleth can accept Edelgard and all of her flaws, then what reason does Edelgard have to not tell her?

"If you're going to talk to the professor about it, you're running out of time," Lysithea says. "You march for Arianrhod in the morning."

"Are you suggesting I speak to her now?" Edelgard asks incredulously, legitimately shocked and not actually trying to find a way out.

Claude pats Edelgard on the shoulder reassuringly, but the gesture makes her tense uncomfortably. Chagrined, Claude grimaces and removes his hand, but still tries to advise her. "This is war. Anything could happen to either of you out there. If you have a chance, you have to take it."

* * *

Edelgard paces back and forth outside the door to the professor's quarters, unable to follow through on her resolution. Lysithea and Claude were reasonable, and Edelgard is actually thankful for their counsel, but she also feels shoehorned into this decision, even if it is logically correct. She continues to walk back and forth, muttering to herself as her mind is filled with countless hypothetical outcomes. Lost in thought, Edelgard doesn't notice as someone approaches her until they are right next to her.

"Edelgard? What are you doing here?"

Edelgard yelps, startled by her new companion. She quickly turns to face the newcomer and is elated (and terrified) to find Byleth, who is carrying a fishing rod and an empty, wet basket. "My teacher! Were you fishing?" Edelgard asks before chastising herself for being so stupid. What else would someone be doing with a fishing rod?

"I was," Byleth says. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd relax a little bit. Some say there are certain fish that only come out at night, too. I thought I'd try my hand." She shows Edelgard the basket, empty of any catch but glistening in the moonlight. "Fish were really biting tonight. I left the ones I caught in the kitchen on some ice for tomorrow's meals."

Edelgard forgot just how much Byleth enjoyed fishing, and she finds Byleth's concentrated expression as she talks about her passion to be quite charming. But that's enough about Edelgard and her fascination with Byleth; she's here for a more solemn purpose. She's not sure how, but Edelgard manages to find the strength to take the final step. "Professor. . .there's something I wish to talk about with you. Is now a good time?"

Edelgard feels like an idiot for asking. It's the middle of the night, in what world would anyone conceive this to be a good time for a talk? But Byleth isn't quite the same as most people. She opens her door and stands aside, gesturing for Edelgard to step inside. "Of course. I always have time for you, Edelgard."

Uncertainly Edelgard crosses the threshold into Byleth's room, still unsure if she can really tell the professor everything. It would be a load off of Edelgard's mind, but confiding in the professor just for her own relief, while also burdening the professor with Edelgard's troubles, does not sit well with her. But the door swing shut with a click behind Byleth, and Edelgard can't back out now.

Byleth shows her to a seat (well, the only seat in the small room), and Edelgard accepts the offer. The chair is hardly worn, appearing almost brand new, and it occurs to Edelgard just how little time the professor actually spent in her room. She had always been out and about, teaching class, helping anyone and everyone who needed it, or fighting in battles. Byleth seldom had any time to herself, seeming as if she only lived to brighten the lives of other people. This brings a smile to Edelgard's face, the memory of her teacher's kindness, but it also stirs a sort of melancholy deep in her soul. When did the professor ever have time for herself? Yes, Byleth did have time to fish quite often, but fishing can only do so much to mend the heart and soul. Who helps the helper?

As her gaze wanders around the professor's quarters, drinking in every detail, Edelgard only belatedly realizes this is the first time she has been to the professor's room. It is unbecoming of an emperor and someone of her upbringing, but the thought is enough to cause heat to rise in her face to the tips of her ears, and Edelgard is supremely grateful that Byleth's back is turned while the professor sets about the brewing some tea on a magically conjured flame. Ever the gracious host (as Edelgard would know from their countless teatimes, all set up to perfection), Byleth dons a pair of fine teacups and prepares a pair of matching saucers. Edelgard remembers all of this fine porcelain tableware, of spending warm afternoons with Byleth. It had crossed Edelgard's mind more than once in the past five years to come and claim Byleth's tea set, as a token to remember her teacher by. But she could never follow through on the thought. For one, it felt like stealing something precious from someone close to her. More importantly, however, taking a souvenir in the professor's memory felt like accepting that Byleth was truly gone, and that was anathema to Edelgard.

Edelgard is so inwardly focused that the insistent whining of the tea kettle doesn't even register in her mind; she only returns to reality when Byleth sets a steaming cup of bergamot tea before her.

"I never could quite figure out the exact Hresvelg blend. And I haven't had a chance to stock up again," Byleth apologizes, but it means the world to Edelgard that Byleth still remembers her favorite tea. Such a small, inconsequential detail, but it just goes to show just how much Byleth cares.

"Thank you, my teacher." Edelgard picks up the delicate teacup and savors the gentle citrus aroma of the bergamot, the warm vapors doing some to raise her spirits.

Byleth settles into her own cup of tea, taking a tentative sip of the scalding liquid. Satisfied with the quality of her brew, she sets her cup on its ceramic saucer and cuts straight to the chase. "Do you have something you wish to tell me?"

"If I am being truthful, no, I don't want to tell you," Edelgard admits. "Lysithea and Claude feel that I should, though."

"How do you feel?"

Edelgard ponders the question for a moment. "I. . . I'm afraid."

"Then you don't have to tell me anything. Wait until you're ready." Byleth smiles kindly, the expression tugging at Edelgard's heartstrings. She can still hardly believe that the professor is actually back, let alone standing on her side of this war after everything Edelgard has done. Does she really deserve this kind of happiness? Edelgard half expects to open her eyes and find herself waking from a fever dream, instead staring down the Sword of the Creator at Byleth, whose eyes burn with disdain and utter loathing. But she blinks, and everything stays as it was. A blessing Edelgard feels she does not deserve, but one she would never give up.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Byleth asks, deciding to change topics and sparing Edelgard the hesitation and discomfort of wanting to tell her something important but not being able to. After coming this far, Edelgard faltered, which isn't like her. She has always been willing to do whatever it takes, so what made the professor so much more special than Edelgard's lifelong goal? Either way, Edelgard will have to apologize to Lysithea and Claude later. The did pressure her into doing this, but the only meant well, and their efforts have come to naught. But she was not lying when she said she will tell the professor. But she would rather do so on her own terms. She will survive to see this war to its end. She must.

Byleth's question is a simple one, but it prompts Edelgard to remember an idea that struck her as she was reading in the library. When it comes to military or political matters, Edelgard can feel her persona as the emperor take over, locking away the girl deep within. Sometimes, she's grateful for this, but others, she's not so sure. "Professor. I would like to hear your perspective on this," Edelgard says, her voice growing more authoritative. "I do not believe victory in a conventional siege of Arianrhod is possible."

"Are you giving up, then?" Byleth asks with a small frown, but Edelgard knows its not actually an expression of disapproval or doubt. It's an expectation of more from Edelgard, who had always been Byleth's brightest pupil.

"I propose that, in order to capture the city, that we send the bulk of the army north towards Gideon and pretend as if we are attempting to take the royal capital."

Byleth contemplates the idea for some time, her silence making Edelgard grow more and more nervous. Perhaps Edelgard's idea is foolish, which would not surprise Edelgard in the least. These past five years, she has continually second guessed every decision she made, and she wonders how she has managed to survive the past five years without the professor by her side.

Finally, the professor speaks. "They say that all warfare is based in deception," she says, which Edelgard takes as a positive. "By sending that force north, you hope to draw the defenders of Arianrhod away by making them think they can join with Dimitri to encircle and defeat you. And while the gates are up and the garrison is deployed elsewhere. . . ."

"Precisely," Edelgard says. "It may not be much of an advantage, but I will take any and every inch that I can."

"A daring gambit, and a dangerous one," Byleth reminds Edelgard.

"War is dangerous."

Unexpectedly, Byleth reaches out and gently cups Edelgard's face with one hand. Edelgard unconsciously leans into the professor's soothing touch, enjoying their closeness while she still can.

"Take care of yourself, El. You are more precious than you think."

Edelgard has her own thoughts on the sentiment, but for now, she'd like to believe in the professor's words.


	7. Chapter 7

Dimitri tightly clutches the fine woodwork of his armoire, fingernails digging into the expensive material as his unbroken gaze bores into the mirror, faintly lit by what little daylight can creep past the heavy curtains that have remained drawn over the windows for what must be years by now. Despite knowing that he looks upon his own reflection, Dimitri cannot recognize the haggard, tortured man in the mirror as himself. When did his face become so gaunt, his cheeks sunken, and the skin of his face tightly drawn across his skull? He looks less a man and more a macabre effigy of himself.

His remaining eye, however, is still the same bright blue, unclouded by Dimitri's anger and despair. The striking clarity that stares out of the mirror and back at Dimitri is unnerving; as if the strangely pure orb is the last remnant of the person he used to be, piercing to the depths of Dimitri's soul and condemning him. With no small amount of effort, Dimitri forces himself away from the hypnotic mirror, only to turn and face the ghosts of the past that have haunted him ever since the Tragedy.

They are but visions, figments of Dimitri's imagination, but to him they seem so incredibly real, so tangible. Dimitri has tried to reach out and touch them, feel them, but invariably the specters are just that—unreachable and forever lost to this world. In a swirl of ethereal mist, they dissipate into nothingness as Dimitri's hand uselessly swipes through the air. But impermanent they may be, the ghosts speak to Dimitri. Not audibly, of course. The dead cannot talk. But Dimitri can read their expressions and feel their grief. And he cannot stand it. This ever-present feeling of powerlessness and guilt. He must make things right, and there is only one way that he can put the dead to rest, to give them some semblance of peace.

"Lord Dimitri." Dedue knocks on the door to Dimitri's chambers, summoning the king to council. "It is time."

Dimitri rubs his eyes, and when he opens them again the spirits have disappeared. For the better. There must be no distractions, not with a war to fight. Not when Dimitri must make Edelgard pay. "Very well," Dimitri answers. "I am on my way."

There is only one way that Dimitri can find some semblance of peace.

* * *

The leadership of both the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Knights of Seiros assemble in the war room of the royal castle in Fhirdiad for an emergency council convened after several disturbing reports from scouts. Dedue delivers the compiled reports to the war council, though one chair between Dimitri and Sylvain remains conspicuously empty.

"Our scouts from the southern border have reported increased activity at Garreg Mach this past week," Dedue informs the council, "and enemy troop movements have been spotted to the south and southwest regions. The soldiers observed wear the colors of both the Empire and Alliance. It seems that our worst fears have come to pass: Lord Riegan has chosen to ally the Leicester Alliance with the Adrestian Empire. With their combined forces, they gather strength to invade Faerghus."

A low murmur passes through the room, a mixture of surprise and resignation at the news of the Alliance joining the Empire's cause. The Leicester Alliance managed to maintain a façade of neutrality for much of the conflict, letting the Kingdom of Faerghus and the church to do much of the heavy lifting in the war, but insiders with knowledge of Leicester's politics had always claimed that the Riegan house leaned towards the side of the church. Speculation abounds as to what could have changed the Alliance's leader's mind, ranging from blackmail to ideas of a more scandalous sort. Still, the 'why' no longer matters, even if it may provide some peace of mind to those with questions.

"Claude. . .I should have expected as much from that disgusting foreigner," Dimitri mutters loudly enough for all to hear. "No matter. The knights of Faerghus will ride to meet the enemy. We will not wait for them to come to us. Sylvain, where is Felix? He will lead the vanguard."

"Felix? I haven't seen him for quite some time," Sylvain tells the council, his answer intentionally vague.

The first couple of days after Felix and Ingrid's explosive falling out, Sylvain gave both of his friends some room to decompress and compose themselves; after a period of time Sylvain deemed appropriate, he then tried to bring the two of them together to reconcile. Sylvain found Ingrid quite easily, but no one he asked had seen hide nor hair of Felix since that night. Felix did say that he was leaving, and even challenged Ingrid to kill him then and there, but Sylvain never thought Felix would actually follow through. He still holds out hope that Felix is just his usual brooding self, hiding away in his room, but rationally Sylvain knows his friend is long gone. The least he can do is play dumb, lest Dimitri have Felix captured and cut down.

"Is it possible that he really abandoned us. . . ?" Ingrid asks Sylvain, his efforts immediately for naught. "You heard him that night, Sylvain. His words bordered on treason. But I don't think—"

"Treason?" Dimitri interrupts. Ingrid and Sylvain's testimony along with Felix's absence tell him everything he needs to know. Dimitri tightly grips the armrest of his chair, the fine wood yielding an audible creaking sound as it struggles to resist the king's might. "As of today, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is branded a traitor and an enemy to the crown, and he is to be killed on sight. Any who can bring me his head will be rewarded with a title and land. Notify everyone, Dedue."

"Now wait, Dimitri! Isn't that going too far? He is your friend!" Sylvain vehemently objects to the quick and brutal verdict.

"No, he was my friend. Now he is nothing but a traitor and a coward. If I ever meet again, I will kill him with my own hands," Dimitri seethes venomously.

"What happened to you?" Sylvain asks. "When did you become the kind of person who would so callously throw away his friends' lives?"

"I have always been this way, Sylvain. Ever since Edelgard took everything from me."

"She was but a child when everything happened!" Sylvain argues back, his voice rising with his passion. "Look at yourself, Dimitri! You claim that she kills simply because she can, yet you're guilty of the same crime!"

Dimitri rises from his seat, eyes blazing with indignant anger. "You dare speak to me like that? Do not compare me with that villain. She and I are not the same."

"Are you sure?" Sylvain continues to challenge Dimitri.

Dimitri fumes, refusing to believe that he and Edelgard could ever be alike. "I've heard enough. Guards. Take him to the dungeons. I will deliver his sentence soon."

"Dimitri, please—" Ingrid tries to intervene.

He glares down at Ingrid, the unspoken threat quite clear in his tone. "You too?"

Ingrid reluctantly backs down. ". . .No."

A pair of knights come to apprehend Sylvain, but he stands and shakes their hands off his shoulders, refusing to let himself be dragged off. "I can go myself," he tells the guards, who do allow him to maintain at least this much of his dignity. As Sylvain leads the way to the dungeon, he turns back to deliver some parting words to the king. "You know, as children Felix and I swore an oath that we would stick together until we died. I always thought if we were going to die, it would be in your defense. Maybe you will see it come to pass—by your hand."

Despite the pressing need to create battle plans, the war council is all but dismissed by Sylvain's sudden outburst and Dimitri's reaction. Sensing that remaining here any longer would prove of little use, Dedue steps in. "Let us adjourn the council for now. The Knights of Faerghus will still mobilize. Lady Rhea, Lady Catherine, we will await the Knights of Seiros' decision on this matter."

Relieved to escape the uneasy atmosphere, the occupants of the war room all quickly depart, save Dimitri and Dedue. Dedue looks to his lord, but a single glance from Dimitri tells him that his presence is not needed—if anything, it is his absence that Dimitri requires. So ordered by his king, Dedue also retreats.

Alone, Dimitri slumps down into this chair, all of the tension and stress in his body and mind flooding away. He reaches for a crystalline decanter filled with a potent spirit and pours himself a hefty glass. Dimitri knows that he won't taste the alcohol, nor does he seek escape through intoxication, but he has grown fond of the burning. It reminds him that he still lives, which in turn reminds him of the debt he still owes the dead. In one smooth motion, Dimitri throws back his head and gulps the entire contents of the glass in mere seconds, savoring the fiery spirit traveling down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. Somewhat satiated, Dimitri lets his arm fall back down to his side, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering into countless shards upon the marble floor, like so many hopes and dreams spiraling into the abyss.

* * *

When he departed Fhirdiad in the dead of night, Felix had no plan or destination aside from 'get the hell out of Fhirdiad' and 'get the hell away from Dimtiri,' though it would not be truthful to call his desertion the result of hotheaded impulse. Ever since he fought alongside Dimitri to put down the western rebellion several years ago, Felix had harbored his doubts about his friend and liege. This parting has been years in the making, but a small part of Felix always hoped it would never come to pass. Well, the goddess has been dead for a thousand years, so it's not unreasonable that his prayers would go unanswered.

Felix found himself heading south towards the Kingdom-Alliance border, a route that would circumvent the Faerghus heartland and ideally avoid any major territories. From there, he could skirt along the edge of the mountains until Garreg Mach, where he assumed the Empire and Alliance would be headquartered. Felix has no love lost for the church, but nor does he have any burning desire to overthrow its hold on Fodlan. But Edelgard (and now Claude) stand in opposition to Dimitri, and as the old adage says, the enemy of his enemy is his friend. The professor's presence alongside Edelgard and Claude only seals the deal. Felix trusts the professor's strength and judgment, and if she has chosen to oppose Dimitri and the church, then Felix knows he can throw his lot in with her.

He has been able to subsist on his knowledge of Faerghus' flora and his hunting skills, but Felix occasionally dropped into small country hamlets to restock certain provisions he could not forage for himself while also trying to glean what information he can about Faerghus as well as the war. Felix operates under the assumption that the news of his desertion has likely spread by now, but tiny rural villages likely would be outside the scope of any pursuit. Besides, his clothing and weaponry give him away for a noble, or at least a well-off soldier or mercenary, and common folk would rather not deal with any trouble he could potentially cause them.

It's in one village, maybe a little more than a day's travel from the monastery, where Felix catches wind of the invasion. It's only a small incursion mostly local to Garreg Mach, but everyone knows what is coming. Felix could still take his chance with the monastery, but with the launch of a major campaign he likely won't find the people he's looking for all the way in the rear. From the whispers he gathers, Felix changes his heading from due southwest to a more west/northwest route, hoping to catch up to the invading army. As a lone rider, he is certain he can outpace thousands upon thousands of soldiers, but that doesn't mean he has time to waste.

His new route, however, unfortunately takes him close to the ruling lands of Gaspard, former home of Lord Lonato. After Lonato's rebellion against the church, his lands were governed by some faceless military officer appointed by the Kingdom, but once war broke out his lands were returned to his adoptive son, Ashe. It seems to have worked out fairly well for both parties, in that Ashe maintains loyalty to the crown while the people of Gaspard are ruled by one of their own. But the politics of Faerghus are of little concern to Felix. It's the necessity of his proximity to such a major city, where it is almost assured that Dimitri has notified the populace that the son of House Fraldarius is a traitor. His supplies are running a bit low, but Felix can't afford the risk of provisioning now. If he can endure the last dozen leagues or so, Felix should be able to catch the Imperial-Alliance army within a day or two.

Or so Felix thought, but just a few hours' journey past ruling seat of Gaspard, Felix notices that he is being not-so-subtly followed. He can spy a contingent of horsemen on his trail maybe a mile or so behind him, almost certainly knights of Faerghus. In an open field like this, he just doesn't have the horsemanship skills to outrun knights who have trained in mounted combat all their lives, so he quickly slips out of his saddle and unbuckles his sword belt, drawing the blade and tossing the scabbard aside. Sword in hand, he waits for his pursuers to catch up. Even with the disadvantage of being on foot against several mounted foes, Felix likes his odds—he's picked up more than just sword skills during his time at the academy and as a soldier.

When he can finally begin to make out more than just distant silhouettes, Felix recognizes the man who is leading the knights—none other than the current regent of Gaspard himself and Felix's former classmate, Ashe. Ashe approaches Felix without a weapon or show of aggression, his bow still slung across his back, though his accompanying knights do surround Felix on all sides. No escape, then.

"Felix. What brings you out here all alone?" Ashe asks courteously, not the barest hint of mistrust on his face.

"Cut the crap, Ashe. I'm sure you've heard by now. You going to kill me?" Felix asks, straight to the point.

Ashe dismounts his horse, handing the reins to a nearby knight, and walks straight up to Felix. "That's what Dimitri has ordered," Ashe admits, "but I don't want to."

Felix eyes the surrounding knights and soldiers, brow raised questioningly. "Should you be so open in disobeying a royal decree?"

Ashe catches Felix's meaning. "The people of Gaspard aren't exactly the church's most ardent supporters, as you might know. And seeing as the crown has aligned itself with the church, well, you could say that the crown has much less influence here than you might think. You will come to no harm in my lands, Felix," Ashe reassures him.

Felix lowers his blade. A little bit. "Disregarding your liege's orders isn't very knightly."

"No, it isn't," Ashe chuckles. He gestures for a knight to make a hole in the encirclement and invites Felix out of the formation. "Why don't we take a short walk?"

Felix sheathes his blade and accepts Ashe's offer, though his hawkish eyes are on the lookout for any sign of deception. None of the knights spare him a second look, content to follow the lord-regent's orders, so Felix allows himself to slightly relax.

"Funny you should mention my dreams of knighthood," Ashe reminisces. "I was always so in love with those stories and legends. But you were always telling me to moderate myself and not be so blind. I didn't really want to hear it, but you had a point. I idolized Lord Lonato. In my mind, he was the epitome of an honorable knight. But look where he ended up: he tried to rebel against the church and was cut down like any other bandit would have been."

"Your thoughts are still with him."

Ashe nods. "Always. He took me in and raised me, made me the man I am today. But I never realized just how angry he was deep down, how much he was hurting. I couldn't see anything except for the knight that saved me. I was so blind, just like you said I was."

"You cannot blame yourself for Lonato's choices," Felix says sympathetically, though his voice is still harsh. He never was good at this whole feelings thing. "You may know someone, but that does not mean you truly understand how they feel."

"No. Though I find myself understanding why Lord Lonato made his choice. The church he had believed in all his life turned on him so easily. . .I can't imagine the sorrow he must have felt. So, what about you, Felix? Why betray your country and friends?" Ashe asks.

"If Dimitri continues down his path, he will destroy Faerghus as well as his friends. I may be labeled a traitor and oath breaker, but I don't care. If Dimitri isn't stopped, he will destroy both himself as well as the people he cares about.

"I see. . ." Ashe murmurs with a frown. "Everyone thinks what they do is right, at least from his or her own perspective. Dimitri believes he is just while you also believe your path is correct. And who is to say who is right and who is wrong?"

"Who, indeed. . . ."

"I've taken enough of your time," Ashe says, slowly heading back in the direction of their horses and the knights. "You were going to join the Empire and Alliance, weren't you?"

"You aren't going to stop me?"

Ashe shakes his head. "No. It isn't my place to judge you as wrong. But I can't say you are right, either. I'd rather stay out of this war, and just focus on what little good I can actually achieve."

The short walk back ends even sooner than Felix expected, and before he leaves, he asks Ashe one last question. "Why let me go? What happened to your dreams of becoming a knight?"

Ashe smiles. "It's like you said: I needed to stop being so blind. I do not need to be a knight to do good in this world. I've always had the power to leave the world a better place than I found it. I don't need to serve a king or goddess to do that."

Satisfied with Ashe's answer, Felix mounts his horse and rides off.

Long after Felix disappears beyond the horizon, Ashe still watches after him.

* * *

A dungeon isn't what one might call the most inviting place, but Ingrid willingly descends into the castle depths. She didn't think Dimitri would actually imprison Sylvain for speaking out, but here she is, visiting her friend in prison. Ingrid doesn't blame Sylvain, though. He only said what everyone else silently thought. Ingrid understands the knightly tenets of chivalry and honor, swearing loyalty to one's lord, but she also feels that it is a knight's place to correct their liege when necessary. Sylvain had done nothing wrong, yet he paid the price anyways. At least Dimitri hadn't killed Sylvain, but who knows if such a gruesome display wasn't in the works. If it came to that. . .Ingrid isn't sure what she would do. She prays it will not come to pass, but Dimitri is far too unpredictable these days.

To Ingrid's relief, his brief stint in his cell hasn't dampened Sylvain's spirits, except for the customary boredom of being confined to such a small space with nothing to do. Nothing to do but think and reflect. Funnily enough, it occurs to Ingrid that perhaps Dimitri would do well to be thrown in a room and forced to reflect on his actions. To her, it seems the wrong man is in the cell.

"Well, it's good to see you, Ingrid! You're looking quite nice today," Sylvain says.

From Ingrid's perspective it seems that old habits really do die hard, much to her chagrin, though to be fair to Sylvain she has been working on using makeup lately. Though with deployment imminent, thoughts of makeup will quickly fall to the wayside. "Sylvain. . .now is not the time for flirting. Things are getting pretty serious again," she says solemnly.

"I meant what I said, though," Sylvain earnestly insists, which draws a small blush from Ingrid. "And I think I know what you mean by 'serious,' unfortunately."

"We're going to war," she tells him.

"I see. Promise me, Ingrid. Don't die out there. I can't protect you or keep an eye on you from here." Sylvain stands up and walks up to the bars of his cell and grabs them tightly.

"And whose fault is it that you're stuck down here?"

"I know, I know. It's my own damn fault. Should've listened to you and considered my actions before I carried them out," Sylvain admits.

She had intended to make a small joke, but Ingrid appears to have miscalculated though Sylvain's introspection is a welcome development. Sylvain had crossed a line and that did deserve appropriate punishment, but Ingrid feels that someone had to broach that issue with Dimitri. For all his misgivings and complaints, Felix had never voiced them directly to Dimitri, though Ingrid can't blame him knowing exactly how that would have gone down. "Oh, Sylvain. About what you said to Dimitri. . . ."

"What? About him being a wild boar? You know, Felix was spot on," Sylvain says. "I don't know how I could have been so blind all this time."

Sylvain's slowly changing perspective sows doubt in Ingrid's own heart, but she stoically pushes it away. To doubt Dimitri and his cause now would be unthinkable. Not after everything she has done in their service. "No. About you and Felix swore an oath to stick together until death. Please, don't talk so casually about dying. Your life is precious." Ingrid breaks away from Sylvain's cell, her duty calling. "I have to go. I will come back for you, Sylvain. I promise."

Sylvain smiles, trying to lift Ingrid's spirits despite being the one imprisoned by their childhood friend.

"I'll hold you to it."

Once she emerges from the dark dungeon, Ingrid recalls an old book and a question she once posed to Felix, and one she now faces herself.

Will she carry out her orders or will she protect her hometown?

Her heart no longer knows the answer.

* * *

"Lady Rhea, you mean to not aid King Dimitri?" Catherine asks, dumbfounded. "What of our alliance?"

"It is only an agreement of convenience," Rhea says, brushing away Catherine's concern. "Between him and Lord Fraldarius in the west, it is likely much of the enemy's forces will be tied up with that battle. Now is our greatest opportunity to retake Garreg Mach."

"Doing so would cut off the invaders' only retreat," Seteth muses, "and even if they escape the battle, their supply lines would be cut."

"And once they are broken and alone, I can finally take back Mother. . ." Rhea mutters, a slightly manic edge to her voice.

Seteth frowns. The circumstances surrounding Sir Jeralt's disappearance decades ago were always suspect in his eyes. Shortly after his child was born and his wife died, a portion of the monastery caught fire and the child perished too, and Jeralt disappeared in the chaos. Without any hard evidence, Seteth was forced to accept the facts at face value, but Jeralt's return to Garreg Mach stirred those dormant, ugly thoughts once more. Jeralt's child was an accomplished mercenary, yes, but that did not warrant an immediate appointment as one of the academy's teachers. At least Seteth could explain that away as Rhea trying to keep Jeralt with the Knights of Seiros.

But on that fateful day when Byleth returned to the monastery, her once dark hair a very particular shade of pastel green, Seteth's misgivings grew. He could recognize that hair color anywhere—it was Rhea's own, after all. And the awakening of the Sword of the Creator only sowed further doubt in his mind. But he dared not voice his hypothesis to Rhea; to do so would invite disaster. Something he could not risk, not with Flayn so close.

Seteth can sympathize with Rhea's plight, and he certainly will never forget the atrocities he suffered in the past alongside her, but how far is too far? Sothis is gone. And even if she were to return, would she approve of Rhea's actions? Rhea first rewrote history to help protect humans, just as Sothis helped nurture them long ago. But in her heart, she could never forget their betrayal; how they desecrated the goddess and created those abominable weapons and crest with her body and blood. It would take the grace of a saint to forgive such horrors, and despite what some may now believe, Rhea could not be that saint. She was too emotional—ironically, she herself was too human in that regard. But there must still be some of that goodness, that kindness, deep down in Rhea's heart, but it is now clouded by her hatred and sorrow.

Perhaps Seteth is at fault in that regard. Surely there was something he could have done. But is it too late to save Rhea? Could she even be redeemed to begin with?

Seteth does not know. But maybe, just maybe, there is something he can do now, if only the chance would present itself.

* * *

With her army camped maybe two days' hard march from Arianrhod, Edelgard finally reveals her intent. She kept her plan between only herself and Hubert for as long as possible to minimize any risk of a leak, but she is now secure enough in her position to announce her plan to her military leadership.

"Lord Arundel. You are to take command of the majority of this army and continue to march north to the Tailtean Plains," she informs him. "Make as if your objective is Fhirdiad."

"What is the meaning of this?!" Volkhard angrily demands, less a question and more an outright rejection. "You would send me off on some suicide mission, Edelgard?"

"You are not to engage the enemy, Lord Arundel. If the enemy seeks to engage you in open battle, simply fall back and continue to harass them," Edelgard says, taking care to use his proper title where Arundel speaks too familiarly. "If we are to take Arianrhod, we must mask our intentions. I will be taking a handpicked unit to seize the city while you distract the enemy."

"This is utter nonsense," Arundel spits contemptuously. "You waste time. I could deliver the city to you in but a moment, and you—"

"You dare disobey your emperor's order?" Edelgard asks, her calm and measured tone belying the overt threat.

Arundel bites his tongue, unwilling to yield to his niece, but he must do so. "Very well, Your Majesty," he says, voice dripping with biting sarcasm. "But do take care out there, my niece. It would not do if there were to be any. . .mistakes."

"No, Uncle," Edelgard says, throwing Arundel's words right back in his face with falsely sweet familiarity. "You certainly can't afford any."


	8. Chapter 8

Edelgard aimlessly glides through the once crowded camp, flattened grass and discarded waste the only signs that an army was once here. She strays toward the far perimeter, trying to appreciate what few moments of solitude she can find, but as usual, doubt and fear creep into her mind. He may now be hours away, but Arundel continues to haunt Edelgard every waking moment.

It gnaws away at Edelgard's conscience to entrust the lives of her soldiers to Arundel's command, and yet it is the most logical course of action. As the imperial regent, Arundel is only second to Edelgard herself in the hierarchy of the Empire, and it would not be farfetched for someone as powerful as he to lead a campaign to take Fhirdiad. There may be some questions as to why Edelgard does not lead the assault herself, but her presence (or lack thereof) would not cast enough doubt upon the invasion to arouse the suspicions of Faerghus and the church.

Still, as Edelgard wonders through the now mostly deserted camp, Arundel is first and foremost on her mind. Per Edelgard's orders, Arundel broke camp and began marching northeast for Fhirdiad and the Tailtean Plains, surprisingly doing so without further protest. Either he realizes the futility of speaking out against Edelgard or he has begun to put his own plots into motion. The latter is a fear that constantly eats away at Edelgard's sanity, but she has always been on her guard around Arundel. It was he, after all, who instigated the Insurrection of the Seven, he who tore apart her family and tortured Edelgard and her siblings.

For too long, Arundel has held nearly unparalleled power in the Adrestian Empire, backed by the clout of the noble houses. The rich and well-to-do squabble for power as if it is there right; all the while, the less fortunate live and die on the whims of those in charge. Edelgard knows that she is no different, dragging unwilling souls to fight her battles, but she tries to tell herself that she acts in the name of a greater good and not her own personal gain. But even Edelgard finds her excuse unconvincing. Only when she joins the fallen will judgment finally be passed upon her. But until that day comes, Edelgard must not sway from her course.

But it still makes Edelgard physically sick to borrow Arundel's power, to entertain his insidious whispering as he offers Edelgard her dream in one hand while concealing a dagger in the other. She knows what lows Arundel can sink, will sink, and has sunken to in the single-minded pursuit of his own goals. In that regard, he and Edelgard are alike, and it pains the emperor to admit that they share a similarity. But Arundel and his minions are a necessary evil (or so Edelgard tries to convince herself), one that must be exterminated once it has fulfilled its purpose. Edelgard does not make a habit of viewing her allies and subjects as pawns to be discarded, but for Arundel and his ilk, she will gladly make an exception.

Though she and Hubert resolved to destroy Those Who Slither in the Dark once the current conflict ends, Edelgard has taken some steps to uproot what bits of Arundel's corruption she can, but his reach extends deep into the heart of Adrestia. It is a delicate balance Edelgard and Arundel maintain; both know that they cannot coexist in this world, yet they require each other to make their ambitions reality. Edelgard knows that she cannot leave Fodlan to Arundel's mercy, going so far as to create contingency upon contingency should she meet an untimely demise—though Edelgard has no intention of falling before seeing her dream come to fruition, and certainly not for her uncle (or whatever shapeshifting monstrosity has taken his name and face) and his ancient grudge.

As the imperial regent, Arundel is oft considered a wise advisor by those who do not know any better, and he tries to play the part. But instead of counsel, Arundel tries to poison Edelgard's mind with his web of lies and deceit, though the man is cunning enough to include the occasional grain of truth, just enough to sow doubt. Edelgard has not fallen prey to her uncle's trickery, however, for the truth of Nemesis, Seiros, and the goddess. Fodlan's history is secondary to Edelgard's quest, but questions do linger in the back of Edelgard's mind.

Though Arundel may plague Edelgard's thoughts, she must set her worries aside for now. The time to deal with him will come, but only if Edelgard succeeds—starting with her first step, Arianrhod. By her estimates, Faerghus will require at least a week to properly mobilize against the diversionary invasion force. In that window, Arianrhod must fall. With that goal in mind, Edelgard turns on her heel and sweeps back through the camp, her mind centered enough to face her allies and ready to implement a plan to take the Fortress City.

Edelgard is loath to admit it, but she did not think much further ahead than the planned diversion. Part of it is the uncertainty involved with such a strategy; it would be difficult to create a plan and the necessary contingencies without knowing the exact conditions of the battlefield. But it is also simply a matter of neglect on Edelgard's part, she should have been prepared long before this coming mission briefing. Maybe then she might have more of the professor's input on the operation.

Edelgard shakes her head, banishing the thought. She cannot rely on Byleth forever. If she is to help guide the world into a new era, Edelgard must have the strength herself to accomplish this. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and enters the command tent, once again assuming her role as the infallible emperor.

Among those in attendance, besides Edelgard's own generals and officers with whom she is quite familiar, are several representatives of the Alliance delegation, handpicked by Claude. It's not quite uncharted territory, as the prominent members are a pair of former classmates, Hilda and Lorenz, but it is still a novel situation for Edelgard. She is silently thankful for Claude's wise selection of a pair of (relatively) familiar faces, but Edelgard still isn't too familiar with her newfound allies. She tended to either keep to herself, among the Black Eagles, or to the professor, so Edelgard lets Hubert take the leads as she sits back and tries to observe Hilda and Lorenz's conduct.

Edelgard doesn't exactly have the highest opinion of Hilda, though Edelgard would be the first to admit that her judgment is premature and likely unfair. After all, five years is quite a long time, and people can change. And Hilda must have done so if Claude saw fit to send her on such an important campaign as his personal representative. But most of what Edelgard knows of the daughter of House Goneril is based off outdated observations from their school days. Then, Hilda had a bit of reputation for being lazy, going so far as to shunt her duties onto poor suitors who were too infatuated to know any better. In a way, Edelgard is envious; not of the attention and fawning (of which Edelgard has received more than her fair share, and then some) but of how Hilda could simply disregard her responsibilities and do what she wanted. But Edelgard has also seen Hilda in combat, both five years ago and in the present, and the warrior on the battlefield could not be any more different than the lady in the parlor. There, Hilda is a force to be reckoned with, and she displays a ferocity few could match. But more importantly, Edelgard sees in Hilda and awareness and care for her comrades and an attention to detail that is oft overlooked, that belie the initial ditzy airhead impression Hilda may give.

In stark contrast to Hilda, however, is Lorenz, a more prototypical noble. It strikes Edelgard that Lorenz is frighteningly similar to her own prime minister, Ferdinand, and that the two of them would likely get along very well, probably over tea. Like Ferdinand, Lorenz is proud of his noble heritage, seeing it as a point of superiority, but not one to lord over others. At least not anymore. Now, Lorenz espouses beliefs more in line with Edelgard's own, that those in power are in a place to use that power and influence as a force for good, not one for personal enrichment. Though Edelgard and Lorenz will probably forever disagree on the necessity of a ruling noble class, she still does find herself warming to Lorenz, just as she did to Ferdinand. They both share the same ideal that it is not blood or upbringing that determines a person's worth, but instead it is their actions that do so.

The more Edelgard ruminates on the two Alliance officers, the more she starts to believe that Claude deliberately made these appointments with more than pure ability in mind.

"As it stands, we estimate the earliest that Faerghus and the church will be able to mobilize against our diversionary invasion force will be in approximately one week," Hubert explains. "This will give us at least seven days to secure Arianrhod, but realistically we will have maybe four or five. Based on that timeframe, our strategy cannot afford to be one of brute force. We must time our assault when the gates are open."

"And what if they aren't?" Hilda asks. "We're just going to hope to get lucky?"

"Indeed," Lorenz adds on. "As Hubert has accurately stated, our force simply cannot contend with the Silver Maiden's defenses. We would require at least three times as many troops than the enemy has, and our own numbers are rather paltry, if we are giving an objective analysis. We may have deceived our foes, but that does not guarantee victory."

Hubert grimaces, clearly sharing a bit of Hilda and Lorenz's doubts. "There is a small, yet. . .non-negligible chance that the gates will not be open. As it stands, our current strategy will employ a small network of scouts to monitor the city's status. If the gates do open, we can use warp magic to quickly mobilize our strike force and gain a foothold inside the city walls."

"If you can warp us all like that, why not just drop us inside?" Hilda asks.

"A fair question," Hubert acknowledges, "but as you may be aware, Arianrhod's defenses are twofold. Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius commands the more traditional military, but our spies report that Lady Cornelia Arnim, a formidable mage, has also been assigned to Arianrhod's defense. She has likely set up a series of magical traps and wards. Against those preparations, in the best case an attempt to warp into the city will simply fail. In the worst, the spell will succeed."

Hilda quizzically tilts her head. "That's the worst case?"

Hubert nods. "Yes. The resulting magical interference would instantly tear you apart before you knew what was happening."

Lorenz blanche at the thought, disgusted by the mental image. ". . .It would appear that we are in quite the quandary."

"If only we could get someone inside to open those gates. Why is it never easy?" Hilda laments for a second before her eyes widen as an epiphany strikes her. "Wait! That's it! Why can't we just sneak inside and open the gates ourselves? There must be some way we could disguise ourselves, and they'd have to let their own allies in, right? Then, we could open the gates and let everyone else in!"

Hubert ruminates on the idea. It's certainly not a bad one—in fact, it's probably the most solid plan available. But there are still some issues that would place the mission in jeopardy. "An interesting maneuver, no doubt, Lady Goneril. But would it not be suspicious if a group of soldiers shows up unannounced?"

"Arianrhod would not expect any reinforcements, anyways, given the enemy army seemingly hellbent on assaulting Fhirdiad," Lorenz says. "Our bluff would easily be exposed."

"Then what can we do besides take a chance and pray?!" Hilda vents her frustrations, causing a low murmur to run through the council as numerous small discussions break out. Edelgard moves to rise from her seat and try to restore order when she notices a distraught looking soldier peering into the tent, trying to get her attention. Alarm floods through Edelgard's mind as her mind races with possibilities, reasons why a common foot soldier would take the initiative to come directly to the emperor. She quickly rises to her feet, the abrupt action instantly bringing silence to the room. With a short nod, Edelgard indicates for the guard to enter the tent and deliver his message.

"Y-Your Highness!" the soldier stutters, unaccustomed to neither directly addressing the emperor nor all of the lords and generals curiously eyeing him. "At the edge of camp. . .we captured someone sneaking around. Well, actually, he walked up to us and surrendered himself. Gave us his swords and all, in fact. Said he needed to speak with you. Uh, Your Highness."

"With me?" Edelgard frowns, her initial fears replaced with confusion. "Who is this person?"

"Don't make me listen to this bumbling idiot any longer. I can speak for myself," a sullen, curt voice interrupts, cutting off the nervous guard before he could even open his mouth. Felix bumps his way past the herd of soldiers escorting him and makes his way into the tent to meet face to face with Edelgard. If Hilda's rightfully frustrated outburst caused a stir before, Felix's appearance sends the entire council into an uproar, but this time Edelgard immediately exercises her authority and checks the growing unrest by merely raising her hand.

"Edelgard." Felix slightly bows his head in a gesture of respect, but his eyes remain ever focused on the emperor, giving her a critical once over.

"Felix," Edelgard returns the terse greeting hardly able to believe that one of Dimitri's most trusted companions is standing before her. He shouldn't be here for any reason, and Felix's surrender wouldn't make sense if this were an assassination attempt. Besides, Dimitri isn't really one for such underhanded tactics, no matter how much he hates Edelgard. On the other hand, she is also well aware of the fractured relationship between Dimitri and Felix. Still, Felix is one of Dimitri's closest friends, ever since childhood, so Edelgard finds it difficult to entertain ideas of a defection. Rather than stew on it any longer, Edelgard directly asks the source for an answer. "Why are you here?" Edelgard asks.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend—or so they say," Felix recites the old saying. "You need to defeat the church. I need to stop Dimitri. It's as simple as that."

"So you say. But why do you need to stop Dimitri? He is your king and friend, no?" Edelgard probes.

"Not anymore," Felix says, a flash of sadness mixed with anger crossing his face. "I thought I would follow him to the end of the world. . .but now that it may actually happen, I cannot. He will destroy everything and everyone around him if it would let him take your head. Perhaps my friends back by Dimitri's side will understand, perhaps they will not. But it doesn't matter. I do what I must."

It's not a ringing endorsement, but Edelgard never expected such. "Very well." She beckons for the guard that brought Felix to also step forward. "Undo his bonds."

With a hurried bow and a bit of fumbling with the keys, the soldier follows Edelgard's order and immediately beats a hasty retreat, far too uncomfortable to remain any longer.

"Now then, Felix, as you may be able to deduce, we intend to strike Arianrhod soon. Your father commands the forces there. Can you really face your own blood on the battlefield?" Edelgard asks, quickly bringing Felix up to speed.

"I would kill him myself if I must," Felix replies without blinking.

His resolve shakes Edelgard though she does not let it show. To so easily turn his back on everything and everyone he's ever known. . .Felix possesses an admirable strength that is simultaneously terrifying. Edelgard too has made difficult decisions, but none so intimidating as Felix's. He will not be remembered kindly for his choice, but Felix still stayed true to his heart and turned his back on his friends and king when he believed he had to.

". . .I see. Are you aware of any weaknesses we can exploit to capture the city?"

"I'm afraid not." Felix shakes his head. "My knowledge of Arianrhod is limited. And my status as a member of House Fraldarius will not be of use; Dimitri has already sentenced me to death."

"That's it!" Hilda shouts, rejoining the debate. "We use your face to get in!"

"I just said that I'm a wanted man," Felix sighs.

"I'm not stupid," Hilda childishly retorts, "I heard that much. But what if some of us grabbed some disguises and said we caught you? That would be a good reason for a bunch of soldiers to show up out of nowhere, right?"

"That would arouse far less suspicion, and a smaller force would not require us to procure so many enemy uniforms," Hubert says, the idea growing on him. "The defenses at the gate will still be formidable, but with most of Arianrhod's strength drawn to our main army, they should not pose a threat to a force of our strongest fighters."

"I will not be able to take part in this scheme, given my identity," Edelgard says. "Are there any among us who would volunteer?"

Lorenz shoots up, back ramrod straight and heels smartly pressed together in a picturesque salute. "None would be more suited for this task than I," he grandly pronounces.

"Very well. I entrust command of this mission to you, Lorenz," Edelgard accepts his offer. Secure in their strategy, Edelgard rises to her feet, adjourning the war council. "We will take the Fortress City and end the tyranny of the crests."

* * *

Claude hunches over the map of Faerghus, eyes tracing back and forth across the numerous lines that mark the kingdom's eastern region, yet his thoughts stray away from this strategy meeting with Byleth and toward less pressing matters.

Even though he is supposed to be the leader of the Leicester Alliance, Claude often finds himself shying away from the duties and responsibilities expected of a leader. Not exactly a desirable trait for one in his position, though it may at least be understandable given the countless dilemmas he has faced throughout his life. In many of those instances, there appeared to be no viable choice—at least, no choice where every party involved would be satisfied with the outcome. And given his dual heritage, Claude feels like the walking epitome of a lose-lose scenario. Rather than deliver an imbalanced verdict, would it not be easier to procrastinate and make promises, instead choosing to maintain an uneasy accord through neutrality?

Or so Claude thought, until Edelgard. Yes, she has made some. . .morally questionable decisions, namely her agreement to cooperate with her uncle and his sinister underlings, but he can still see the goodness in her heart and ambition. Edelgard, for all her flaws and sins, has the bravery and will to fight for the world she believes in. Without her, it is possible that Fodlan would still change for the better. But possibility does not imply probability. Would such change happen within five years? Ten? Or even a hundred? Perhaps it is Edelgard's terminal condition that truly spurs her onwards; unlike Claude, Edelgard does not have the luxury of perpetually delaying when it comes to her problems. Even so, Claude admires Edelgard for being able to do what he could not.

So now Claude strives to be Edelgard's equal. For one, the noble houses he answers to would not be pleased if he diminishes the Leicester Alliance's status after pulling them into a coalition with the Adrestian Empire. Though Edelgard would not pounce on any weakness, perceived or otherwise, the same cannot be said for every single Adrestian bureaucrat and general (Hubert, for one, springs to mind). Hence Claude assuming command of both Garreg Mach's garrison as well as the secondary task force assigned to harass Faerghus' military installations. He knows he isn't the military leader Edelgard is nor the strategic genius that the professor is, but Claude can contribute in his own ways.

Speaking of, Claude has long lost track of what Byleth has been saying for some time now, a blunder that has come back to bite him as Byleth abruptly stops speaking, creating a brief but uncomfortable silence.

"Claude?" Byleth asks, and Claude is not sure if the professor expects an answer to a question or if she is just trying to get his attention. Claude sheepishly feels like a child scolded for slacking off in school, despite the fact that he is now a grown man who leads an entire nation.

"Sorry, Teach. . ." Claude says. "Got lost in my thoughts. Do you mind repeating what you just said?"

"Not at all." Byleth returns her attention to the map but remembers something at the last minute. "What's the last thing you remember?"

". . .I don't know."

Byleth smiles patiently, not at all frustrated by Claude's absentmindedness. "Something bothering you?"

"Edelgard," Claude freely admits without any reservation. "I envy her."

Byleth stays silent, an invitation for Claude to continue. As always with the professor, Claude doesn't feel the least bit uncomfortable or embarrassed to expose his fears and vulnerabilities to another. Byelth has never been anything but an attentive, empathetic listener, and that aspect of her has not changed one bit despite her five-year disappearance.

"She's just. . .stronger than I am. Braver. She wants to change the world, so she goes out and tries to do it. Me. . .I hesitate, procrastinate. Always looking for a way out. Edelgard does not. She's decisive. Something I never was," Claude finishes, face downcast.

"Must you be like her? Edelgard has her own failings and insecurities, just like anyone else. She is not infallible," Byleth consoles Claude.

Claude runs a hand through his hair. "I know that. But somehow, she finds the will to move past them. I'm forever frozen by them. I feel like I'm always running away. Away from my responsibilities, from my people. From myself."

"Why do you feel so? Is it because you lack conviction? Is your heart not in it?" Byleth asks, prompting Claude to look inward.

Claude idly plays with the edge of the well-worn map, fingers haphazardly creasing the coarse paper as he struggles to find an answer for Byleth. "I truly believe in my cause, but. . .it's hard," Claude finishes plaintively. "I'm sure you must know how it feels. To have people hanging on your every word like gospel, to feel the fate of the world weigh upon your shoulders. To hold the lives of the people you care about in your hands. How do you find the strength to carry these expectations and burdens and not let them crush you? Does it ever get any easier?"

". . .No. It doesn't," Byleth herself admits, the flat tone of her voice clashing with the wistful look in her eyes. In a moment of hesitation, a lifetime of memories flashes before Byleth's eyes. Countless comrades from her days with her father's mercenary company, faces and names lost to the cruel march of time. "But it shouldn't," Byleth continues, voice growing stronger. "Even when you know that you are truly in the right, you should never be afraid or ashamed to have second thoughts. To do so is not a sign of weakness. It's perfectly normal, and I'd even argue it is a positive trait. If you could make costly decisions and not pause for even a second to reconsider. . .that would be far worse than mere indecision."

"I can't stay like this foever, though." Claude groans as he lays his forehead on the table with an audible thud. "If. . .no. When we win this war. I must lead Fodlan and guide it to the world Edelgard and I have envisioned. If I can't handle my duties now, how could I ever be worthy to lead?"

"A leader is not alone, Claude."

Claude lifts his head up off the table, the map briefly sticking to his face before fluttering back down to the table. "But to be a leader—"

"Does not mean you must be an island," Byleth gently corrects Claude before he can finish his thought. "You have so many talented and loyal people by your side, all willing to help. You need only ask."

"But if they can do my job, why am I here? Wouldn't that mean someone else is more suited to lead than I?" Claude asks.

"Perhaps," Byleth bluntly answers, which makes Claude wince. "But does that matter? Whoever that person is, they do not lead the Leicester Alliance. You do. And your people have seen fit to let you continue leading their nation."

"And what if they're wrong?"

"They're not," Byleth confidently declares, placing a hand over her heart. "I—"

The heart-to-heart conversation is cut off by the cacophonous tolling of a bell, a frantic, irregular clanging that echoes throughout the monastery. Byleth and Claude are immediately out of their chairs and on their feet when a distant voice carries on the late afternoon breeze, a piercing cry that cuts through the clamor of the cathedral bells.

"We're under attack!"


End file.
